Class 
 
 Book JL^ 
 
 GprtghtN". 
 
 COPaucuT Dcposm 
 
The Rivals 
 
The Rivals 
 
 By 
 
 Richard Brinsley Sheridan 
 
 With an Introdudlion by 
 Brander Matthews 
 
 and Illustrations by 
 M. Power O'Malley 
 
 New York 
 
 Thomas Y. Crowell & Co. 
 
 Publishers 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1884, BY JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO. 
 COPYRIGHT, 1904, AND 1907, BY THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. 
 
 LIBRARY Of CONGRFSS f 
 Two OoQifcs 8«3ceived ' 
 JUL 2j 90r I 
 
 Ol.iSS f\ XXc, Not ■ 
 
 ^_^^_ _ COPY ^- S 
 
 fTv'^ 
 
 <?..^ 
 
 -^ 
 
 7U 
 
 COMPOSITION AND ELECTROTYPE PLATES BY 
 D. B. UPDIKE, THE MERRYMOUNT PRESS, BOSTON 
 
p 
 
 Contents 
 
 Introduction ix 
 
 Author's Preface xxxiii 
 
 Prologue {Spoken by Mr, Woodward and 
 
 Mr. Quick) ^ 3 
 
 Prologue {Spoken by Mrs. Bulkley) 5 
 
 Act I 7 
 
 Act II 25 
 
 Act III 49 
 
 Act IV 73 
 
 Act V 95 
 
 Epilogue {Spoken by Mrs. Bulkley) 121 
 
 Notes ^^5 
 
List of Illustrations 
 
 What can the girl mean ?'^ (p. 82) Frontispiece 
 
 PAGE 
 
 '-'■Well, child^ what have you brought me?^^ 12 - 
 
 "Fy, Sir Anthony! you surely speak laconically^^ 19 
 
 " Tour being a simpleton shall be no excuse for your lo- 
 cality''' 22 y 
 
 " My hair has been in training some time'^ 35 v^ 
 
 " What, sir, promise to link myself to some mass of ugli- 
 ness!^' 40 '• 
 
 " Take a kiss beforehand to put you in mind " 45 
 
 '■'■ He is the very pine -apple of politeness !^^ 59 
 
 *^Mey sir — me! he means me!** 60 ' 
 
 '■'■Come along — come along'' 66 
 
 ''■Mine are true-born English legs'* 68 
 
 " / shall expert the honour of your company*' 71 
 
 " Our ancestors are the last people I should choose to have 
 
 a visiting acquaintance with " 74 
 
 '■'■In beauty, that copy is not equal to you" 86 
 
 " How often have I stole forth, in the coldest night in 
 
 January" 10 1 
 
 * * Tou unmannerly puppy !** 106 
 
 *' How would you receive the gentleman* s shot?** 108 
 
 *'What, Jack! — my dear Jack!** 112 . 
 
Introdudion 
 
 IN the days now departed, and perhaps 
 for ever, when every town in this broad 
 land had its theatre, with its own stock- 
 company of adors and adresses, the manager 
 was wont once and away to announce, with 
 more or less flourish of trumpets, and as though 
 he were doing a most meritorious thing, a se- 
 ries of old-comedy revivals. Whenever the an- 
 nouncement was put forth, the regular play- 
 goer retired within himself, and made ready for 
 an intelledual treat. If you asked the regular 
 playgoer for a list of the Old Comedies, it was 
 odds that he rattled oflF, glibly enough, first, the 
 School for Scandal, second. She Stoops to Conquer, 
 and third, the Rivals. After these he might hes- 
 itate, but if you pushed him to the wall, he would 
 name a few more plays, of which A New Way to 
 Fay Old Debts was the oldest and Money the 
 youngest. Leaving the regular playgoer, and in- 
 vestigating for yourself, you will find that the 
 Old Comedies are mostly those which, in spite 
 of their being more than a hundred years old, 
 
 [ ix ] 
 
Introdudion 
 
 are yet lively and sprightly enough to amuse a 
 modern audience. 
 
 The life of a drama, even of a successful 
 drama, is rarely three-score years and ten ; and 
 the number of dramas which live to be cente- 
 narians is small indeed. In the last century the 
 case was different ; and a hundred years ago the 
 regular playgoer had a chance to see frequently 
 eight or ten pieces by Massinger, Ben Jonson, 
 Beaumont and Fletcher, and Shirley. Nowa- 
 days, Shakspere's are the only Elizabethan plays 
 which keep the stage, with one solitary excep- 
 tion, — Massinger's A New Way to Fay Old 
 Debts, The Chances^ of Beaumont and Fletcher; 
 the City Madam, of Massinger; and Every Man 
 in his Humour, of Ben Jonson, — these have all, 
 one after another, dropped out of sight. The 
 comedies of the eighteenth century have now in 
 their turn become centenarians; of these there 
 are half a score which have a precarious hold 
 on the theatre, and are seen at lengthening in- 
 tervals ; and there are half a dozen which hold 
 their own firmly. Of this scant half-dozen, the 
 School for Scandal is, perhaps, in the greatest re- 
 
 [X ] 
 
Introdu6lion 
 
 quest, followed closely by She Stoops to Conquer 
 and the Rivals, 
 
 The Rivals was Sheridan's first play; it was*^ 
 produced at Covent Garden, January 17, 1775^ 
 Like the first plays of many another dramatist 
 who has afterward succeeded abundantly, it failed 
 dismally on its first performance, and again on 
 the second, the night after. It was immediately 
 withdrawn; in all probability, it was somewhat 
 rewritten; and of a certainty it was very much 
 shortened. Then, on January 28, after a ten days* 
 absence from the bills, it reappeared, with Mr. 
 Clinch in the place of Mr. Lee, as Sir Lucius 
 O'Trigger. 
 
 Moore remarks that as comedy, more than 
 any other species of composition, requires "that 
 knowledge of human nature and the world which 
 experience alone can give, — it seems not a little 
 extraordinary that nearly all our first-rate come- 
 dies should have been the produ6lions of very 
 young men." Moore then cites Farquhar, and 
 Vanbrugh, and especially Congreve, all of whose 
 comedies were written before he was twenty-five. 
 It is these three writers who gave the stamp to 
 [xi] 
 
Introdudion 
 
 English comedy ; and Sheridan's die was not un- 
 like theirs. Now, a consideration of the fa6t that 
 English comedy is thus, in a measure, the work 
 of young men, may tend to explain at once its 
 failings and its force. As Lessing says: "Who 
 has nothing can give nothing. A young man, just 
 entering upon the world himself, cannot possibly 
 know and depid the world." And that is just the 
 weak point of English comedy ; it is brilliant and 
 full of dash, and it carries itself bravely, but it 
 does not show an exad: knowledge of the world, 
 and it does not depid with precision. " The great- 
 est comic genius,'* Lessing adds, "shows itself 
 empty and hollow in its youthful works." Empty 
 and hollow are harsh words to apply to English 
 comedy; but it is easy to deted, behind all its 
 glitter and sparkle, a want of depth, a superfi- 
 ciality, which is not far from the emptiness and 
 hollowness of which Lessing speaks. Compare 
 this English comedy of Congreve and of Sheri- 
 dan, which is a battle of the wits, with the broader 
 and more human comedy of Moliere and of Shak- 
 spere, and it is easy to see what Lessing means. 
 In place of a liberal humanity is an exuberance 
 [xii] 
 
Introduftion 
 
 of youthful fancy and wit, delighting in its exer- 
 cise. What gives value to these early plays, and 
 especially to Sheridan's, is the touch of the true 
 dramatist to be seen in them; and the dramatist is 
 like the poet in so far that he is born, not made. 
 "A dramatic author," says the younger Alex- 
 andre Dumas, "as he advances in life, can acquire 
 higher thoughts, can develop a higher philoso- 
 phy, can conceive and execute works of stronger 
 tissue, than when he began; in a word, the mat- 
 ter he can cast into his mould will be nobler and 
 richer, but the mould will be the same." Dumas 
 proceeded to show how the first plays of Cor- 
 neille, of Moliere, and of Racine, from a tech- 
 nical point of view, are as well constructed as the 
 latest. So it is with Congreve, and Vanbrugh, and 
 Farquhar, and Sheridan ; they gave up the stage 
 before they had great experience of the world; 
 but they were born dramatists. All their come- 
 dies were made in the head, not in the heart. But 
 made where or how you please, they are well 
 made. It is impossible to deny that the Rivals^ 
 however hollow or empty it may appear on mi- 
 nute critical inspection, is a very extraordinary 
 [ xiii ] 
 
Introdudion 
 
 produdlion for a young man of twenty-three. 
 
 Humour ripens slowly, but in the case of Sheri- 
 dan some forcing-house of circumstance seems to 
 have brought it to an early maturity, not so rich, 
 perhapSjOr so mellow as it might have become with 
 time, and yet full of a flavour of its own. Strangely 
 enough, the early Rivals is more humorous and 
 less witty than the later School for Scandal, — per- 
 haps because the humour of the Rivals is rather 
 the frank feeling for fun and appreciation of the 
 incongruous (both of which may be youthful qual- 
 ities) than the deeper and broader humour which 
 we see at its full in Moliere and Shakspere. 
 
 So we have the bold outlines of Mrs. Mala- 
 prop and Bob Acres, personages having only a 
 slight likeness to nature, and not always even 
 consistent to their own projection, but strong in 
 comic effed and abundantly laughter-compelling. 
 They are caricatures, if you will, but caricatures 
 of great force, full of robust fun, tough in tex- 
 ture, and able to stand by themselves, in spite 
 of any artistic inequality. Squire Acres is a coun- 
 try gentleman of limited intelligence, incapable 
 of acquiring, even by contagion, the curious sys- 
 [ xiv ] 
 
Introdudion 
 
 tem of referential swearing by which he gives 
 variety to his speech. But "odds, bullets, and 
 blades!" as he says, his indeterminate valour is 
 so aptly utilized, and his ultimate poltroonery in 
 the duel scene is so whimsically developed, and 
 so sharply contrasted with the Irish assurance 
 and ease of Sir Lucius O'Trigger, that he would 
 be a hard-hearted critic indeed who could taunt 
 Mr. Acres with his artistic shortcomings. And 
 it surely takes a very acute mind to blunder so 
 happily in the "derangement of epitaphs" as 
 does Mrs. Malaprop ; she must do it with malice 
 prepense, and as though she, and not her niece, 
 were as " headstrong as an allegory on the banks 
 of the Nile." It is only a sober second thought, 
 however, which allows us to "cast aspersions on 
 her parts of speech." While Bob Acres and Mrs. 
 Malaprop are before us we accept them as they 
 are; and here we touch what was at once Sheri- 
 dan's weakness and his strength, which lay side 
 by side. He sought, first of all, theatrical effed; 
 dramatic excellence was a secondary and subser- 
 vient consideration. On the stage, where all goes 
 with a snap, consistency of charader is not as 
 [xv] 
 
Introdudion 
 
 important as distlndlness of drawing. The attri- 
 butes of a charadler may be incongruous if they 
 make the charader itself more readily recogniza- 
 ble; and the attention of the speculator may be 
 taken from the incongruity by humour of situa- 
 tion and quickness of dialogue. Acres's odd oaths 
 are no great strain on consistency, and they help 
 to fix him in our memory. Mrs. Malaprop's in- 
 genuity in dislocating the didionary is very amus- 
 ing, and Sheridan did not hesitate to invent ex- 
 travagant blunders for her, any more than he 
 hesitated to lend his own wit to Fag and David, 
 the servants, who were surely as incapable of 
 appreciating it as they were of inventing it. After 
 all, Sheridan had to live on his wit; and he wrote 
 his 'plays to make money by its display. And 
 the more of himself he put into each of his char- 
 acters, the more brilliant the play. To say this 
 is, of course, to say that Sheridan belongs in the 
 second rank of comedy writers, with Congreve 
 and Regnard, and not in the class with Shak- 
 spere and Moliere. But humour and an insight 
 into human nature are not found united with the 
 play-making faculty once in a century; there is 
 [ ^vi 1 
 
Introduftion 
 
 only one Shakspere, and only one Moliere. It 
 is well that a quick wit and a lively fancy can 
 amuse us not unsatisfadlorily, and that, in de- 
 fault of Shakspere and Moliere, we have at least 
 Beaumarchais and Sheridan. 
 
 It is well that Sheridan wrote the Rivals ]ust 
 when he did, or else both wit and humour might 
 have been banished from the English stage for 
 years. That there was ever any danger of Eng- 
 lish comedy stiffening itself into prudish prig- 
 gishness it is not easy now to credit; but in the 
 eighteenth century the danger was real. A school 
 of critics had arisen who prescribed that comedy 
 should be genteel, and that it should eschew all 
 treatment of ordinary human nature, confining 
 itself chiefly to sentiment in high life. A school 
 of dramatists, beginning with Steele (whom it is 
 sad to see in such company), and including Cum- 
 berland and Hugh Kelly, taught by example 
 what these critics set forth by precept. The bulk 
 of playgoers were never converted to these prin- 
 ciples, but they obtained in literary society and 
 were, for the moment, fashionable. There were 
 not lacking those who protested. Fielding, who 
 [ xvii ] 
 
Introdudtion 
 
 had studied out something of the secret of Mo- 
 liere's humour in the adaptations he made from 
 the author of the Miser, had no sympathy with 
 the new school; and when he came to write his 
 great novel, Tom Jones, he had a sly thrust or 
 two at the fashion. He introduces to us, for ex- 
 ample, a puppet-show which was performed 
 "with great regularity and decency. It was called 
 the fine and serious part of the Provoked Hus- 
 band, and it was indeed a very grave and solemn 
 entertainment, without any low wit, or humour, 
 or jests; or, to do it no more than justice, any- 
 thing which could provoke a laugh. The audi- 
 ence were all highly pleased." 
 
 'Tom Jones was published in 1749 ; and in 1773 
 Sentimental-Comedy still survived,and was ready 
 to sneer at Goldsmith's She Sloops to Conquer, and 
 to call its hearty and almost boisterous humour 
 "low." But Tony Lumpkin's country laugh 
 cleared the atmosphere. Sentimental-Comedy 
 had received a deadly blow. Some months be- 
 fore She Stoops to Conquer was brought out, Foote 
 had helped to make the way straight for a re- 
 vival of true comedy, whereat a man might ven- 
 [ xviii ] 
 
Introduftion 
 
 ture to laugh, by announcing a play for his 
 *' Primitive Puppet-show," called the Handsome 
 Housemaid, or Piety in Pattens, which was to illus- 
 trate how a maiden of low degree, by the mere 
 efFeds of her morality and virtue, raised her- 
 self to honour and riches. In his life of Garrick, 
 Tom Davies tells us that Piety in Pattens killed 
 Sentimental-Comedy, although until then Hugh 
 Kelly's False Delicacy had been the favourite 
 play of the times. It is, perhaps, true that Foote 
 scotched the snake; it is certain, however, that 
 it was Sheridan who killed it. Two years after 
 Goldsmith and Foote came Sheridan; and after 
 the Rivals there was little chance for Sentimen- 
 tal-Comedy. Moore prints passages from an 
 early sketch of a farce, from which we can see 
 that Sheridan never took kindly to the sentimen- 
 tal school. Yet so anxious was he for the success 
 of thei?/V^/i,and so important was this success to 
 him, that he attempted to conciliate the wits and 
 fine ladies who were bitten by the current craze; 
 at least it is difficult to see any other reason for 
 the characters of Julia and Faulkland, so differ- 
 ent from all Sheridan's other work, and so wholly 
 [ ^^^ ] 
 
Introdudlion 
 
 wanting in the sparkle in which he excelled. And 
 the calculation was seemingly not unwise; the 
 scenes between Julia and Faulkland, to which 
 we now listen with dumb impatience, and which 
 Mr. Jefferson, in his version of the piece, has 
 trimmed away, were received with delight. John 
 Bernard, who was at one time secretary of the 
 Beefsteak Club, and afterward one of the first of 
 American managers, records in his amusing Re- 
 trospe^tions that the audience at the first perform- 
 ance of the i^/^'^/J contained "two parties, — those 
 supporting the prevailing taste, and those who 
 were indifferent to it, and liked nature. On the 
 first night of a new play it was very natural that 
 the former should predominate, and what was 
 the consequence? Why, that Faulkland and Julia 
 (which Sheridan had obviously introduced to 
 conciliate the sentimentalists, but which, in the 
 present day, are considered incumbrances) were 
 the charaders most favourably received, whilst 
 Sir Anthony Absolute, Bob Acres, and Lydia, 
 those faithful and diversified pidures of life, were 
 barely tolerated." 
 
 But the sentimentalists were afterward present 
 
 [XX] 
 
Introduftion 
 
 in diminishing force; and the real success of the 
 
 comedy came from those who could appreciate 
 
 its fun and who were not too genteel to laugh. So 
 
 Sheridan, writing a new prologue to be spoken 
 
 on the tenth night, drew attention to the figure of 
 
 Comedy (which stood on one side of the stage, as 
 
 Tragedy did on the other), and bade the audience 
 
 ^^Loo\ on her well — does she seem fornCd to teach? 
 Should you expert to hear this lady — preach F 
 Is gray experience suited to her youth F 
 Do solemn sentiments become that mouth? 
 Tety thus adorned with every graceful art 
 To charm the fancy and to reach the hearty 
 Must we displace her? and instead advance 
 The goddess of the woful countenance? — 
 The Sentimental Muse I — Her emblems view — 
 The ^Pilgri?n''s Progress^ and a sprig of rue! 
 There fixed in usurpation should she standy 
 She"* II snatch the dagger from her sister s hand; 
 And having made her votaries weep a flood, 
 Good heaven! sheUl end her comedies in blood!" 
 
 Sheridan's use of the figures of Comedy and 
 Tragedy is charadleristic of his aptness in turn- 
 ing to his own advantage any accident upon 
 which his quick wit could seize. Charaderistic, 
 too, is the willingness to borrow a hint from an- 
 other. Sheridan was not above taking his matter 
 [ ^^i ] 
 
Introdudlion 
 
 wherever he found it. Indeed, there are not want- 
 ing those who say that Sheridan had nothing of 
 his own, and was barely able to cover his men- 
 tal nakedness with rags stolen everywhere. John 
 Forster declared that Lydia Languish and her 
 lover owed something to Steele's "Tender Hus- 
 band. Dibdin, in his History of the Stage ^ says that 
 Lydia was stolen from Colman's Polly Honey- 
 combe. Whipple found that Sir Anthony Abso- 
 lute was suggested by Smollett's Matthew Bram- 
 ble; and, improving on this, Thomas Arnold, 
 in the article on English Literature in the Ency- 
 clopaedia Britannica, spoke of the Rivals as dug 
 out of Humphrey Clinker. Watkins, Sheridan's 
 first biographer, had already pretended to trace 
 Mrs. Malaprop toa waiting-woman in Fielding's 
 Joseph Andrews; other critics had called her a 
 reproduction of Mrs. Heidelberg, inColman and 
 Garrick's Clandestine Marriage. And a more re- 
 cent writer spoke of Theodore Hook's Rams- 
 bottom Papers as containing the original of all 
 the Mrs. Malaprops and Mrs. Partingtons. Not 
 only were the characters thus all copied here and 
 there, but the incidents also are stolen. Moore 
 [ xxii ] 
 
Introdudion 
 
 and Mrs. Inchbald point out that Faulkland's 
 trial of Julia's affedion by a pretended danger 
 and need of instant flight, is anticipated both in 
 Prior's Nut-brown Maid^ and in Smollett's Fer- 
 egrine Fickle; and Boaden, in his biography of 
 Kemble, finds the same situation in the Memoirs 
 of Miss Sidney Biddulph^ a novel by Sheridan's 
 mother, which was once very popular, but which 
 Sheridan told Rogers he had never read. Not 
 content with thus robbing Sheridan of the con- 
 stituent parts of his play, an attempt has been 
 made to deprive him of the play itself. Under 
 the head of Literary Gossip, a British weekly 
 called The Athen^um^ on January i, 1876, had 
 this paragraph: 
 
 "A very curious and most interesting faft has come to 
 light at the British Museum. Among the colleftion of 
 old plays (presented to that institution by Mr. Coventry 
 Patmore in 1864) which formerly belonged to Richard 
 Brinsley Sheridan, has been found the holograph original 
 of the comedy The Trip to Bath^ written in 1749, by 
 Mrs. Frances Sheridan, his mother, and which, it is said 
 in Moore's Life of Sheridan, was the source of his play 
 of the Rivals, A very slight comparison of the two plays 
 leaves no doubt whatever of the faft ; and in the char- 
 after of Mrs. Malaprop, Sheridan has aftually borrowed 
 [ xxiii ] 
 
Introduftion 
 
 some of her amusing blunders from the original Mrs. 
 Tryfort without any alteration whatever." 
 
 I have massed these accusations together to 
 meet them with a general denial. I have com- 
 pared Sheridan^s characters and incidents with 
 the so-called originals; and I confess that I can 
 see very little likeness in any case, and no ground 
 at all for a charge of plagiarism. It is not that 
 Sheridan was at all above borrowing from his 
 neighbour: it is that in the Rivals he did not so 
 borrow, or that his borrowings are trifling and 
 trivial both in quantity and quality. Polly Hon- 
 eycombe, for example, is like Lydia Languish 
 in her taste for novel-reading, in her romantic 
 notions, and in nothing else; Polly figures in 
 farce and Lydia in high comedy ; Polly is a 
 shopkeeper's daughter, and Lydia has the fine 
 airs of good society. It is as hard to see a like- 
 ness between Polly and Lydia as it is to see 
 just what Sheridan owes to Steele's 'Tender Hus- 
 band, The accusation that the Rivals is indebted 
 to Humphrey Clinker is absurd ; Sir Anthony Ab- 
 solute is not at all like Mr. Matthew Bramble; 
 indeed, in all of Smollett's novel, of which the 
 [ xxiv ] 
 
Introdudion 
 
 humour is so rich, not to say oily, there is no- 
 thing which recalls Sheridan's play, save possi- 
 bly Mistress Tabitha Bramble, who is an old 
 woman, anxious to marry and mistaking a pro- 
 posal for her niece to be one for her own hand, 
 and who blunders in her phrases. How far, 
 however, from Sheridan's neat touch is Smol- 
 lett's coarse stroke! "Mr. Gwynn," says Mis- 
 tress Tabitha to Quin the a6lor, "I was once 
 vastly entertained with your playing the Ghost 
 of Gimlet at Drury Lane, when you rose up 
 through the stage with a white face and red eyes, 
 and spoke o^ quails upon the frightful porcupine.'' 
 Mrs. Slipslop, in Joseph Andrews, has also a 
 misapplication of words, but never so aptly in- 
 congruous and so exadly inaccurate as Mrs. 
 Malaprop. This trick of speech is all either 
 Mistress Bramble or Mrs. Slipslop have in com- 
 mon with Mrs. Malaprop; and Mrs. Heidel- 
 berg has not even this. The charge that Mrs. 
 Malaprop owes aught to Theodore Hook is 
 highly comic and preposterous, as Hook was 
 born in 1788, and published the Ramsbottom 
 Papers between 1 824 and 1828, — say half a cen- 
 
 [ XXV ] 
 
Introduftion 
 
 tury after Mrs. Malaprop had proved her claim 
 to immortality. And it is scarcely less comic and 
 preposterous to imagine that Sheridan could 
 have derived the scene between Julia and Faulk- 
 land from Prior's Nut-brown Maid^ and from 
 Smollett's Peregrine Pick/e, d,nd from Mrs. Sheri- 
 dan's Sidney Biddulph; the situation in the play 
 differs materially from those in the three other 
 produ6lions. Remains only the sweeping charge 
 of 'The Athenaeum; and this well-nigh as cause- 
 less as the rest. The manuscript of which The 
 Athen(£um speaks is No. 25,975, and it is called 
 A Journey to Bath; it ends with the third ad, and 
 two more are evidently wanting. It is only "a 
 very slight comparison" of this comedy of Mrs. 
 Sheridan's with her son's Rivals^ which "leaves 
 no doubt whatever" of the taking of the latter 
 from the former. I have read the Journey to Bath 
 very carefully; it is a rather lively comedy, such 
 as were not uncommon in 1750; and it is wholly 
 unlike the Rivals, The chara6lers of the Journey 
 to Bath are: Lord Hewkly; Sir Jeremy Bull, 
 Bart.; Sir Jonathan Bull, his brother, a city 
 knight; Edward, son to Sir Jonathan; Champi- 
 [ xxvi ] 
 
Introdudtion 
 
 gnon; Stapleton; Lady Filmot; Lady Bel Air- 
 castle; Mrs. Tryfort, a citizen's widow; Lucy, 
 her daughter; Mrs. Surface, one who keeps a 
 lodging-house at Bath. Mrs. Surface, it may be 
 noted, is a scandalmonger, who hates scandal; 
 and Sheridan used both the name and the char- 
 adler in his later and more brilliant comedy. In 
 the Journey to Bath and the Rivals^ the scenes 
 are laid at Bath ; and here the likeness ends, — ex- 
 cept that Mrs. Tryfort seems to be a sort of first 
 draft of Mrs. Malaprop. It is difficult to doubt 
 that Sheridan had read his mother's comedy 
 and had claimed as his by inheritance this Mrs. 
 Tryfort, who is described by one of the other 
 characters as the "vainest poor creature, and the 
 fondest of hard words, which, without miscall- 
 ing, she always takes care to misapply." Few 
 of her misapplications, however, are as happy as 
 those of Mrs. Malaprop. 
 
 After all, the invention is rather Shakspere's 
 than Mrs. Sheridan's. Mrs. Malaprop is but 
 Dogberry in petticoats. And the fault of which 
 Whipple accused Sheridan may be laid at Shak- 
 spere's door also. Whipple called Mrs. Mala- 
 [ xxvii ] 
 
Introdud:ioii 
 
 prop's mistakes "too felicitously infelicitous to 
 be natural," and declares them " charaderistic, 
 not of a mind flippantly stupid, but curiously 
 acute," and that we laugh at her as we should 
 at an acquaintance "who was exercising his in- 
 genuity, instead of exposing his ignorance." This 
 is all very true, but true it is also that Dogberry 
 asked," Who think you to be the most desertless 
 man to be constable ? " And again, "Is our whole 
 dissembly appeared ? " And " O villain ! thou wilt 
 be condemned into everlasting redemption for 
 this ! " Sheridan has blundered in good company, 
 at all events. 
 
 Not contentwith finding suggestions for Sher- 
 idan's work in various fidions, his earliest bi- 
 ographer. Dr. Watkins, suggests that the plot 
 of the Rivals was taken from life, having been 
 suggested by his own courtship of Miss Linley 
 and the ensuing duel with Captain Mathews. 
 And a later biographer, Mrs. Oliphant, chose to 
 identify Miss Lydia Languish with Mrs. Sheri- 
 dan. Both suggestions are absurd. There is no 
 warrant whatever for the assumption that any 
 similarity existed between Miss Linley and Miss 
 [ xxviii ] 
 
Introdudion 
 
 Languish; and the incidents of Sheridan's com- 
 edy do not at all coincide with the incidents of 
 Sheridan's biography. Already, in his Maid of 
 Bathy had Foote set Miss Linley and one of her 
 suitors on the stage; and surely Sheridan, who 
 would not let his wife sing in public, would shrink 
 from putting the story of their courtship into a 
 comedy. It has been suggested, though, that in 
 the duel scene Sheridan profited by his own ex- 
 perience on the field of honour; and also, that 
 in the character of Faulkland he sketched his 
 own state of mind during the long hours of wait- 
 ing, when he was desperately in love, and saw 
 little hope of marital happiness; in the days when 
 he had utilized the devices of the stage, and for 
 the sake of getting near to her for a few minutes, 
 he had disguised himself as the coachman who 
 drove her at night to her father's house. This 
 may be true; but it is as dangerous as it is easy 
 to apply the speeches of a dramatist, speaking 
 in many a feigned voice, to the circumstances of 
 his own life. 
 
 The Rivals, as a play, has suffered the usual 
 vicissitudes of all old favourites. Although never 
 [ xxix ] 
 
Introdudlion 
 
 long forgotten, it has been now and again neg- 
 ledled and now and again harshly treated. Of 
 late years the parts of Faulkland and Julia have 
 been much curtailed when the comedy has been 
 aded in England; and in the admirable revival 
 eifeded in 1880 by Mr. Joseph Jefferson in the 
 United States, Julia was wholly omitted and 
 Faulkland was suffered to remain only that he 
 might serve as a foil to Bob Acres. It is pleasant 
 to note that when the play was produced at the 
 Haymarket Theatre in London by Mr. and 
 Mrs. Bancroft, the parts of Julia and Faulkland 
 were restored to their pristine importance. In the 
 Haymarket revival of 1884, as in a highly suc- 
 cessful revival at the Vaudeville Theatre (where 
 in 1882-3 ^^^ comedy was aded more than two 
 hundred times), the part of Mrs. Malaprop was 
 performed by Mrs. Sterling, whose reading of 
 the part, although more conscious and aife(5led 
 than Mrs. Drew's, was as effedive as any author 
 could desire. In the United States we were for- 
 tunate in the possession of Mr. John Gilbert, 
 whose Sir Anthony Absolute may be matched 
 with the great Sir Anthonys of the past. We may 
 [ ^^^ ] 
 
Introduftion 
 
 be sure that Mr. Gilbert's fine artistic conscience 
 would forbid his repetition of a freak of Dow- 
 ton's, who once, for a benefit, gave up Sir An- 
 thony to appear as Mrs. Malaprop. 
 
 Nor was this the only occasion when a man 
 played a woman's part in this comedy. In his 
 autobiography, Kotzebue (from whom the au- 
 thor of the Rivals was afterward to borrow Pi- 
 xarro) records the performance of the English 
 comedy in German in the cloister of the Mino- 
 ret's Convent, a performance in which the future 
 German dramatist, then a mere youth, doubled 
 the parts of Julia and Acres! In German as in 
 French, there is more than one translation or 
 adaptation of the Rivals \ and some of them are 
 not without a comicality of their own. It is to 
 be remembered, also, that on the celebrated visit 
 of the English adors to Paris, in 1827, — a visit 
 which had great influence on the development 
 of French dramatic literature, and which may, 
 indeed, be called the exciting cause of the Ro- 
 mantic movement, — the first play presented to 
 the Parisian public by the English adors was the 
 Rivals, 
 
 [ XXX i ] 
 
Author's Preface 
 
 A PREFACE to a play seems generally to he 
 , considered as a kind of closet-prologue^ in 
 which — if his piece has been successful — the au- 
 thor 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 judg- 
 ment in the theatre at least is decisive)^ its degree 
 of reputation is usually as determined as public ^ be- 
 fore it can be prepared for the cooler tribunal of the 
 study, nus any further solicitude on the part of 
 the writer becomes unnecessary at leasty if not an 
 intrusion ; and if the piece has been condemned in 
 the performance y I fear an address to the closet ^ like 
 an appeal to posterity ^ is constantly regarded as the 
 procrastination of a suit ^ from a consciousness of the 
 weakness of the cause. From these considerations ^ 
 the following comedy would certainly have been sub- 
 mitted to the reader y without any further introduc- 
 tion than what it had in the representation^ hut 
 that its success has probably been founded on a cir- 
 cumstance which the author is informed has not 
 
 [ xxxiii ] 
 
Author's Preface 
 
 before attended a theatrical trials and which con- 
 sequently ought not to pass unnoticed, 
 
 I need scarcely add^ that the circumstance alluded 
 to was the withdrawing of the piece ^ to remove those 
 imperfections in the first representation which were 
 too obvious to escape reprehension^ and too numer- 
 ous to admit of a hasty cor region. There are few 
 writers^ I believe, who, even in the fullest conscious- 
 ness of error y do not wish to palliate the faults 
 which they acknowledge : and, however trifling the 
 performance, to second their confession of its defi- 
 ciencies, by whatever plea seems least disgraceful to 
 their ability. In the present instance, it cannot be 
 said to aynount either to candour or modesty in me, 
 to acknowledge an extreme inexperience and want 
 of judgment on matters, in which, without guid- 
 ance from pra5iice, or spur from success, a young 
 man should scarcely boast of being an adept. If it be 
 said, that under such disadvantages no one should 
 attempt to write a play, I must beg leave to dissent 
 from the position, while the first point of experience 
 that I have gained on the subje^ is, a knowledge 
 of the candour and judgment with which an im- 
 partial public distinguishes between the errors of 
 [ xxxiv ] 
 
Author's Preface 
 
 inexperience and incapacity^ and the indulgence 
 which it shows even to a disposition to remedy the 
 defers of either. 
 
 It were unnecessary to enter into any further ex- 
 tenuation of what was thought exceptionable in this 
 play, but that it has been said, that the managers 
 should have prevented some of the defeats 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 cen- 
 sure 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 hap- 
 pen^ 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 ad- 
 vanced when I first put the play into Mr, Harris's 
 hands ; it was at that time at least double the length 
 of any a5ling comedy. I profited by his judgment and 
 experience in the curtailing of it — ////, / 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 
 
 [ XXXV ] 
 
Author's Preface 
 
 pruning so many more. Hence, though I was not 
 uninformed that the a5ls were still too long^ I flat- 
 tered myself that ^ after the first trials I might with 
 safer judgment proceed to remove what should appear 
 to have been most dissatisfa5lory. Many other er- 
 rors there were, which might in part have arisen 
 from my being by no means conversant with plays 
 in general^ either in reading or at the theatre, Tet 
 I own that, in one respe5l, I did not regret my ig- 
 norance; 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 effe^ling this from 
 being in a walk which I had not frequented, and 
 where, consequently, the progress of invention was 
 less likely to be interrupted by starts of recolle^lion : 
 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 ojfspring, and doubts whether it 
 has created or adopted. 
 
 With regard to some particular passages which 
 on the first nighfs representation seemed generally 
 disliked, I confess, that if I felt any emotion ofsur- 
 [ xxxvi ] 
 
Author's Preface 
 
 prise at the disapprobation^ it was not that they were 
 disapproved of, but that I had not before perceived 
 that they deserved it. As some part of the attack on 
 the piece was begun too early to pass for the sentence 
 ^/judgment, which is ever tardy in condemning ^ 
 it has been suggested to me, that much of the disap- 
 probation 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 for- 
 mer, 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 disap- 
 pointment. 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 sin- 
 cerity, and even though the annotation be rude^ he 
 may rely upon the justness of the comment. Consid- 
 ered in this light, that audience, whose fiat is essen- 
 tial to the poet's claim, whether his object be fame 
 [ xxxvii ] 
 
Author's Preface 
 
 or profit y has surely a right to expe5i some deference 
 to its opinion^ from principles of politeness at least^ 
 if not from gratitude. 
 
 As for the little puny critics ^ who scatter their 
 peevish strictures in private circles ^ and scribble at 
 every author who has the eminence of being uncon- 
 nected with them^ as they are usually spleen-swoln 
 from a vain idea of increasing their consequence, 
 there will always be found a petulance and illiber- 
 ality in their remarks which should place them as 
 far beneath the notice of a gentleman, as their ori- 
 ginal dulness had sunk them from the level of the 
 most unsuccessful author. 
 
 It is not without pleasure that I catch at an op- 
 portunity of justifying myself from the charge of in- 
 tending 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 
 [ xxxviii ] 
 
Author's Preface 
 
 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 abili- 
 ties. But where {as in this instance) their merit has 
 been so striking and uncontr over ted, 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 condu5l, however, of the prin- 
 cipals in a theatre cannot be so apparent to the pub- 
 lic, 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 dra- 
 matic line will meet with that candour and liberal 
 attention which are generally allowed to be better 
 calculated to lead genius into excellence, than either 
 the precepts of judgment, or the guidance of experi- 
 ence. The Author 
 
The Rivals 
 
Dramatis Personae 
 
 As originally a^ed at Covent-Garden Theatre in IJJS 
 
 Sir Anthony Absolute Mr. Shuter 
 
 Captain Absolute Mr. Woodward 
 
 Faulkland Mr. Lewis 
 
 Acres ^ Mr. Quick 
 
 Sir Lucius O^ Trigger Mr. Lee^ 
 
 Fag Mr. Lee Lewes 
 
 David Mr. Dunstal 
 
 Thomas Mr. Fear on 
 
 Mrs. Malaprop Mrs. Green 
 
 Lydia Languish Miss Barsanti 
 
 Julia Mrs. Bulkley 
 
 Lucy Mrs. Lessingham 
 
 Maid, Boy, Servants, etc. 
 
 Scene : BaUk 
 Time of Action : Five Hours 
 
 Afterwards by Mr. Clinch, 
 
Prologue 
 
 *frji\\ ISsxCvlV 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR 
 
 Spoken by Mr, Woodward and Mr. Quick 
 
 Enter Serjeant-at-law, and Attorney following and 
 giving a paper 
 
 ERJ, What's here! — a vile cramp 
 
 hand ! I cannot see 
 Without my spectacles. 
 
 Jtt. 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 ! 
 
 Jtt. Yes, sir ! though you without reward, I know, 
 Would gladly plead the Muse's cause. 
 
 Serj. So! — so! 
 
 Jtt. And if the fee offends, your wrath should fall 
 On me. 
 
 Serj. Dear Dibble, no offence at all. 
 Jtt. Some sons of Phoebus in the courts we meet, 
 Serj. And fifty sons of Phoebus in the Fleet ! 
 Jtt. Nor pleads he worse, who with a decent sprig 
 Of bays adorns his legal waste of wig. 
 
 Serj. Full-bpttom'd heroes thus, on signs, unfurl 
 A leaf of laurel in a grove of curl 1 
 
 • [ 3 ] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 Yet tell your client that, in adverse days, 
 This wig is warmer than a bush of bays. 
 
 Att. Do you, then, sir, my client's place supply, 
 Profuse of robe and prodigal of tie — 
 Do you, with all those blushing powers of face, 
 And wonted bashful hesitating grace. 
 Rise in the court, and flourish on the case. [Exit 
 
 Serj. For praftice then suppose — this brief will show 
 
 it,— 
 Me, Serjeant Woodward, — counsel for the poet. 
 Used to the ground, I know, 't is hard to deal 
 With this dread court, from whence there 's no appeal; 
 No tricking here, to blunt the edge of law. 
 Or, damned in equity, escape hy faw : 
 But judgment given, your sentence must remain ; 
 No writ of error lies — to Drury-lane ! 
 
 Yet when so kind you seem, 't is past dispute 
 We gain some favour, if not costs of suit. 
 No spleen is here! I see no hoarded fury; — 
 
 — I think I never faced a milder jury ! 
 Sad else our plight ! where frowns are transportation, 
 A hiss the gallows, and a groan damnation ! 
 But such the public candour, without fear 
 My client waives all right of challenge here. 
 No 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 ox falL 
 
 [4] 
 
Prologue 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR 
 
 Spoken on the tenth nighty by Mrs. Bulkley 
 
 RANTED our cause, our suit and trial 
 
 ^^^41^1 
 
 J 
 
 
 j^j^' 
 
 
 
 
 G 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ^^^■^ 
 
 
 
 The worthy Serjeant need appear no 
 
 more : 
 In pleasing I a different client choose, 
 He served the Poet — I would serve the Muse: 
 Like him, I '11 try to merit your applause, 
 A female counsel in a female's cause. 
 
 Look on this form,^ — where Humour, quaint and 
 sly. 
 Dimples the cheek, and points the beaming eye ; 
 Where gay Invention seems to boast its wiles 
 In 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 expeSf to hear this lady preach ? 
 Is gray experience suited to her youth ? 
 Do solemn sentiments become that mouth ? 
 Bid her be grave, those lips should rebel prove 
 To every theme that slanders mirth or love. 
 
 Yet, thus adorn'd with every graceful art 
 To charm the fancy and yet reach the heart — 
 Must we displace her? And instead advance 
 
 ' Pointing to the figure of Comedy. 
 
 [5 1 
 
The Rivals 
 
 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 — 
 
 Primely portrayed on emblematic wood ! 
 
 There, fix'd in usurpation, should she stand, 
 
 She '11 snatch the dagger from her sister's hand : 
 
 And having made her votaries weep a flood^ 
 
 Good heaven! she'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,^ whose brow, severe 
 And sad, claims Youth's respeft, and Pity's tear; 
 Who, when oppress'd by foes her worth creates. 
 Can point a poniard at the Guilt she hates. 
 
 * Pointing to Tragedy. 
 
 [6] 
 
1 
 
 w 
 
 m 
 
 F 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 M 
 
 m 
 
 The Rivals: AA I 
 
 Scene I : J Street in Bath 
 
 Enter Thomas; he crosses the stage; Y AG follows^ 
 looking after him 
 AG, What! Thomas! — Sure 'tis he! — 
 What! Thomas! Thomas! 
 
 Thos, Hey! — Odds life! Mr. Fag! — 
 give us your hand, my old fellow-servant, 
 i^^^. Excuse myglove, Thomas : — I 'm 
 devilish glad to see you, my lad. Why, my prince of 
 charioteers, you look as hearty! — but who the deuce 
 thought of seeing you in Bath ? 
 
 Thos. Sure, master, Madam Julia, Harry, Mrs. Kate, 
 and the postilion, be all come. 
 Fag. Indeed ! 
 
 Thos. Ay, master thought another fit of the gout was 
 coming to make him a visit; — so he'd a mind to gi't 
 the slip, and whip! we were all off at an hour's warn- 
 ing. 
 
 Fag. Ay, ay, hasty in everything, or it would not be 
 Sir Anthony Absolute! 
 
 Thos. But tell us, Mr. Fag, how does young master ? 
 Odd! Sir Anthony will stare to see the captain here! 
 Fag. I do not serve Captain Absolute now. 
 
 [7] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 Thos. Why sure ! 
 
 Fag. At present I am employed by Ensign Beverley, 
 
 Thos. I doubt, Mr. Fag, you ha'n't changed for the 
 better. 
 
 Fag. I have not changed, Thomas. 
 
 Thos. No! Why, didn't you say you had left young 
 master ? 
 
 Fag. No. — Well, honest Thomas, I must puzzle you 
 no farther: — briefly then — Captain Absolute and En- 
 sign Beverley are one and the same person. 
 
 Thos. The devil they are! 
 
 Fag. So it is indeed, Thomas ; and the ensign half of 
 my master being on guard at present — the captain has 
 nothing to do with me. 
 
 Thos. So, so! — What, this is some freak, I warrant! 
 — Do tell us, Mr. Fag, the meaning o't — you know I 
 ha' trusted you. 
 
 Fag. You'll be secret, Thomas? 
 
 Thos. As a coach-horse. 
 
 Fag. Why then the cause of all this is — Love. — 
 Love, Thomas, who (as you may get read to you) has 
 been a masquerader ever since the days of Jupiter. 
 
 TJios. Ay, ay; — I guessed there was a lady in the 
 case: — but pray, why does your master pass only for 
 ensign P Now if he had shammed ^^«^r^/ indeed — 
 
 Fag. Ah ! Thomas, there lies the mystery o' the mat- 
 ter. 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 were son and heir 
 
 [8] 
 
Ad First 
 
 to Sir Anthony Absolute, a baronet of three thousand a 
 year. 
 
 Thos. That is an odd taste indeed! — But has she got 
 the stuff, Mr. Fag ? Is she rich, hey ? 
 
 Fag, Rich! Why, I beh'eve she owns half the stocks! 
 Zounds! Thomas, she could pay the national debt as 
 easily as I could my washerwoman ! She has a Ip^og that 
 eats out of gold, — she feeds her parrot with small pearls, 
 — and all her thread-papers are made of bank-notes! 
 
 Thos. Bravo, faith ! — Odd ! I warrant she has a set of 
 thousands at least : but does she draw kindly with the 
 captain ? 
 
 Fag. As fond as pigeons. 
 
 Thos, May one hear her name ? 
 
 Fag, Miss Lydia Languish. — But there is an old 
 tough aunt in the way; — though, by the by, she has 
 never seen my master — for we got acquainted with 
 miss while on a visit in Gloucestershire. 
 
 Thos. Well — I wish they were once harnessed 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 damn the place, I'm 
 tired of it ; their regular hours stupefy me — not a fiddle 
 nor a card after eleven! — However, Mr. Faulkland's 
 gentleman and I keep it up a little in private parties — 
 
 [9l 
 
The Rivals 
 
 I '11 introduce you there,Thomas — you '11 like him much. 
 
 Thos. Sure I know Mr. Du-Peigne — you know his 
 master is to marry Madam Julia. 
 
 Fag. I had forgot. — But, Thomas, you must polish 
 a little — indeed you must. — Here now — this wig! — 
 What the devil do you do with a wig, Thomas ? — 
 None of the London whips of any degree of ton wear 
 wigs now. 
 
 Thos. More 's the pity ! more's the pity, I say. — Odds 
 life! when I heard how the lawyers and dodlors had took 
 to their own hair, I thought how 't would go next : — 
 Odd rabbit it! when the fashion had got foot on the bar, 
 I guessed 'twould mount to the box, — but 'tis all out 
 of character, believe me, Mr. Fag: and look'ee, I'll 
 never gi' up mine — the lawyers and doctors may do as 
 they will. 
 
 Fag. Well, Thomas, we'll not quarrel about that. 
 
 TIws. Why, bless you, the gentlemen of the profes- 
 sions ben't all of a mind — for in our village now, thofiF 
 Jack Gauge, the exciseman has ta'en to his carrots, 
 there's little Dick the farrier swears he'll never forsake 
 his bob, though all the college should appear with their 
 own heads! 
 
 Fag. Indeed! well said, Dick! — But hold! — mark! 
 — mark! Thomas. 
 
 Thos. Zooks! 'tis the captain. — Is that the lady with 
 him ? 
 
 Fag, No, no, that is Madam Lucy, my master's mis- 
 tress's maid. They lodge at that house — but I must after 
 him to tell him the news. 
 
 [10] 
 
Ad First 
 
 Thos. Odd! he*s giving her money! — Well, Mr. 
 Fag 
 
 Fag. Good-by, 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 : J 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 tovv^n in 
 search of it ; I don't believe there 's a circulating library 
 in Bath I ha'n't been at. 
 
 Lyd. And could not you get The Reward of Constancy ? 
 
 Lucy. No, indeed, ma'am. 
 
 Lyd. Nor The Fatal Connexion P 
 
 Lucy. No, indeed, ma'am. 
 
 Lyd. Nor The Mistakes of the Heart F 
 
 Lucy. Ma'am, as ill luck would have it, Mr. Bull said 
 Miss Sukey Saunter had just fetched it away. 
 
 Lyd. Heigh-ho! — Did you inquire for The Delicate 
 Distress f 
 
 Lucy. Or, The Memoirs of Lady Woodford? Yes, in- 
 deed, ma'am. I asked everywhere for it ; and I might have 
 brought it from Mr. Frederick's, but Lady Slattern 
 Lounger, who had just sent it home, had so soiled and 
 dog's-eared it, it wa'n't fit for a Christian to read. 
 
 Lyd. Heigh-ho! — Yes, I always know when Lady 
 Slattern has been before me. She has a most observing 
 
The Rivals 
 
 thumb ; and, I believe, cherishes her nails for the con- 
 venience of making marginal notes. — Well, child, w^hat 
 have you brought me ? 
 
 Lucy. Oh! here, ma'am. — [Taking hooks from under 
 her cloak^ and from her pockets^ This is The Gordian Knot^ 
 — and this Peregrine Pickle. Here are The Tears of Sen- 
 sibility and Humphrey Clinker.)Th\s is The 'Memoirs of 
 a Lady of^ality^ written by herself and here the second 
 volume of The Sentimental journey . 
 
 Lyd. Heigh-ho! — -What are those books by the 
 glass ? 
 
 Lucy. The great one is only The Whole Duty of Man ^ 
 where I press a few blonds, ma'am. 
 
 Lyd. Very well — give me the sal volatile. 
 
 Lucy. Is it in a blue cover, ma'am? 
 
 Lyd. My smelling-bottle, you simpleton ! 
 
 Lucy. Oh, the drops; — here, ma'am. 
 
 Lyd. Hold ! — here's some one coming — quick, see 
 who it is. — \Exit Lucy.] Surely I heard my cousin 
 
 Julia's voice. 
 
 Reenter LucY 
 
 Lucy. Lud ! ma'am, here is Miss Melville. 
 
 Lyd. Is it possible ! — \Exit Lucy 
 
 Enter Julia 
 
 Lyd. My dearest Julia, how delighted am I! — [Em- 
 brace^ How unexpected was this happiness ! 
 
 ful. True, Lydia, and our pleasure is the greater. — 
 But what has been the matter? — you were denied to 
 me at first 1 
 
 [ "] 
 
•* Welly child y what have pu brought meP^* 
 
. . Oh ! here, ma*am, 
 : loak^ and from her pock i^ 
 uid this Peregrine P 
 
 ! unie of 1 he Sc 
 
 Lyd, Heigh~ho \ 
 i^lass ? 
 
 Lucy, The great onu 
 .(cre I press a few biyiids, i:ia am. 
 
 ,' / Vcrv- wA} — invf- rne the SC4I :}n]iitlh. 
 
 '\\ ma'ai. 
 
 I simpleton ! 
 . ma'am. 
 
 \'^"^«T^^Ivfc'(l^V5;^'^ tV^^'M ,'tiV\'^^ tWv^ 
 
Ad First 
 
 Lyd, Ah, Julia, I have a thousand things to tell you' 
 — But first inform me what has conjured you to Bath ? 
 Is Sir Anthony here? 
 
 Jul. He is — we are arrived within this hour — and 
 I suppose he will be here to wait on Mrs. Malaprop as 
 soon as he is dressed. 
 
 Lyd, Then before we are interrupted, let me impart 
 to you some of my distress! — I know your gentle na- 
 ture will sympathize with me, though your prudence 
 may condemn met My letters have informed you of 
 my whole connexion with Beverley! but I have lost 
 him, Julia! My aunt has discovered our intercourse by 
 a note she intercepted, and has confined me ever since! 
 Yet, would you believe it ? she has absolutely fallen in 
 love with a tall Irish baronet she met one night since 
 we have been here, at Lady Macshuffle's rout. 
 
 JuL You jest, Lydia! 
 
 Lyd, No, upon my word. She really carries on a kind 
 of correspondence with him, under a feigned name 
 though, till she chooses to be known to him ; — but it is 
 a Delia or a Celia, I assure you. 
 
 Jul, Then, surely, she is now more indulgent to her 
 niece. 
 
 Lyd. Quite the contrary. Since she has discovered her 
 own frailty, she is become more suspicious of mine. 
 Then I must inform you of another plague! — That 
 odious Acres is to be in Bath to-day ; so that I protest 
 I shall be teased out of all spirits! 
 
 Jul, Come, come, Lydia, hope for the best. — Sir 
 Anthony shall use his interest with Mrs. Malaprop. 
 
 [ '3] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 Lyd. But you have not heard the worst. Unfortu- 
 nately I had quarrelled with my poor Beverley, just be- 
 fore my aunt made the discovery, and I have not seen 
 him since, to make it up. 
 
 Jul. What was his offence? 
 
 Lyd. Nothing at all ! — But I don't know how it was, 
 as often as we had been together, we had never had a 
 quarrel, and, somehow, I was afraid he would never give 
 me an opportunity. So, last Thursday, I wrote a letter 
 to myself, to inform myself that Beverley was at that 
 time paying his addresses to another woman. I signed it 
 your friend unknozun^ showed it to Beverley, charged 
 him with his falsehood, put myself in a violent passion, 
 and vowed I'd never see him more. 
 
 Jul. And you let him depart so, and have not seen 
 him since ? 
 
 Lyd. 'T was the next day my aunt found the matter 
 out. I intended only to have teased him three days and 
 a half, and now I've lost him for ever. 
 
 Jul. If he is as deserving and sincere as you have re- 
 presented him to me, he will never give you up so. Yet 
 consider, Lydia, you tell me he is but an ensign, and 
 you have thirty thousand pounds. 
 
 Lyd. But you know I lose most of my fortune if I 
 marry without my aunt's consent, till of age ; and that 
 is what I have determined to do, ever since I knew the 
 penalty. Nor could I love the man, who would wish to 
 wait a day for the alternative. 
 
 Jul. Nay, this is caprice ! 
 
 Lyd. What, does Julia tax me with caprice? — I 
 
 [ H] 
 
Ad First 
 
 thought her lover Faulkland had inured her to it. 
 
 JuL I do not love even his faults. 
 
 Lyd. But apropos — you have sent to him, I suppose? 
 
 y«/. Not yet, upon my vi^ord — nor has he the least 
 idea of my being in Bath. Sir Anthony's resolution was 
 so sudden, I could not inform him of it. 
 
 Lyd. Well, Julia, you are your ov^^n mistress (though 
 under the prote6lion 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. 
 
 yul. Nay, you are wrong entirely. We were con- 
 tracted before my father's death. That, and some con- 
 sequent embarrassments, have delayed what I know to 
 be my Faulkland's most ardent wish. He is too gener- 
 ous 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 ex- 
 pelled from a lover — but being unhackneyed in the 
 passion, his affection is ardent and sincere; and as it en- 
 grosses his whole soul, he expedts every thought and 
 emotion of his mistress to move in unison with his. Yet, 
 though his pride calls for this full return, his humility 
 makes him undervalue those qualities in him which 
 would entitle him to it ; and not feeling why he should 
 be loved to the degree he wishes, he still suspe6ls that 
 he is not loved enough. This temper, I must own, has 
 
 [ IS] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 cost me many unhappy hours ; but I have learned to 
 think myself his debtor for those imperfe6tions which 
 arise from the ardour of his attachment. 
 
 Lyd. Well, I cannot blame you for defending him. 
 But tell me candidly, Julia, had he never saved your 
 life, do you think you should have been attached to him 
 as you are? — Believe me, the rude blast that overset 
 your boat w^as a prosperous gale of love to him. 
 
 Jul. Gratitude may have strengthened my attach- 
 ment to Mr. Faulkland, but I loved him before he had 
 preserved me; yet surely that alone v^^ere an obligation 
 sufficient. 
 
 Lyd. Obligation! vi^hy a water-spaniel would have 
 done as much! — Well, I should never think of giving 
 my heart to a man because he could swim. 
 
 Jul. Come, Lydia, you are too inconsiderate. 
 
 Lyd. Nay, I do but jest. — What's here? 
 Reenter Lucy in a hurry 
 
 Lucy. O ma'am, here is Sir Anthony Absolute just 
 come home with your aunt. 
 
 Lyd. They'll not come here. — Lucy, do you watch. 
 
 [Exit Lucy 
 
 Jul. Yet I must go. Sir Anthony does not know I 
 am here, and if we meet, he'll detain me, to show me 
 the town. I'll take another opportunity of paying my 
 respeds to Mrs. Malaprop, when she shall treat me, as 
 long as she chooses, with her seleft words so ingeniously 
 misappUedy without being mispronounced. 
 Reenter Lucy 
 
 Lucy. O Lud! ma'am, they are both coming up-stairs. 
 [ «6] 
 
Ad First 
 
 Lyd. Well, I'll not detain you, coz. — Adieu, my 
 dear Julia. Fm sure you are in haste to send to Faullc- 
 land. — There — through my room you'll find another 
 staircase. 
 
 yul. Adieu! [Embraces Lydia, and exit 
 
 Lyd. Here, my dear Lucy, hide these books. Quick, 
 quick. — Fling Peregrine Pickle under the toilet — throw 
 Roderick Random into the closet — put The Innocent 
 Adultery into The Whnle Duty of Man — thrust Lord 
 Aimworth under the sofa — cram Ovid behind the bol- 
 ster — there — put the Manof Feeling'mto your pocket — 
 so, so — now lay Mrs. Chapone in sight, and leave For- 
 dyce's Sermons open on the table. 
 
 Lucy. Oh, burn it, ma'am! the hair-dresser has torn 
 away as far as Proper Pride, 
 
 Lyd. Never mind — open at Sobriety. — Fling me Lord 
 Chesterfield^ s Letters. — Now for 'em. [Exit Lucy 
 
 Enter Mrs. Malaprop and Sir Anthony Absolute 
 
 Mrs. Mai. There, Sir Anthony, there sits the deli- 
 berate simpleton who wants to disgrace her family, and 
 lavish herself on a fellow not worth a shilling. 
 
 Lyd. Madam, I thought you once — 
 
 Mrs. Mai. You thought, miss! I don't know any 
 business you have to think at all — thought does not be- 
 come a young woman. But the point we would request 
 of you is, that you will promise to forget this fellow — 
 to illiterate him, I say, quite from your memory. 
 
 Lyd. Ah, madam ! our memories are independent of 
 our wills. It is not so easy to forget. 
 
 [ 17] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 Mrs. Mai. But I say it is, miss j 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 mem- 
 ories don't become a young woman. 
 
 Sir Anth. Why sure she won't pretend to remember 
 what she 's ordfered-n^TT^ay, this comes of her reading ! 
 
 Lyd, What crime, madam, have I committed, to be 
 treated thus? 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Now don't attempt to extirpate yourself 
 from the matter ; you know I have proof controvertible 
 of it. — But tell me, Will you promise to do as you're 
 bid ? Will you take a husband of your friends' choosing ? 
 
 Lyd. Madam, I must tell you plainly, that had I no 
 preference for any one else, the choice you have made 
 would be my aversion. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. What business have you, miss, with pre- 
 ference and aversion ! They don't become a young wo- 
 man ; and you ought to know, that as both always wear 
 off, 't is safest in matrimony to begin with a little aver- 
 sion. I am sure I hated your poor dear uncle before mar- 
 riage 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, 't is unknown what 
 tears I shed ! — But suppose we were going to give you 
 another choice, will you promise us to give up this Bev- 
 erley ? 
 
 Lyd. Could I belie my thoughts so far as to give that 
 promise, my actions would certainly as far belie my words. 
 
 [ i8] 
 
'■!s; 'i^i£i>:' <^ >i:^;^ ':-4i>.fr.^!>ff "^ivi" " it 
 
 i^ '.i?? 
 
 Fyy Sir Anthony! you surely speak laconically! 
 
K'blS^!. 
 
 r->5^VAK ^Vi ,^ 
 
Ad First 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Take yourself to your room. — You are 
 fit company for nothing but your own ill-humours. 
 
 Lyd. Willingly, ma'am. — I cannot change for the 
 worse. ytxit 
 
 Mrs. Mai. There 's a little intricate hussy for you ! 
 Sir Anth. It is not to be wondered at, ma'am, — all 
 this is the natural consequence of teaching girls to read. 
 Had I a thousand daughters, by Heaven ! I 'd as soon 
 have them taught the black art as their alphabet ! 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Nay, nay. Sir Anthony, you are an abso- 
 lute misanthropy. 
 
 Sir Anth. In my way hither, Mrs. Malaprop, I ob- 
 served your niece's maid coming forth from a circulat- 
 ing library!— She had a book in each hand — they were 
 half-bound volumes, with marble covers! — from that 
 moment I guessed how full of duty I should see her 
 mistress ! 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Those are vile places, indeed ! 
 Sir Anth. Madam, a circulating library in a town is 
 as an evergreen tree of diabolical knowledge ! It blos- 
 soms through the year ! — and depend on it, Mrs. Mala- 
 prop, that they who are so fond of handling the leaves 
 will long for the fruit at last. 
 
 Mrs. Mai Fy, fy. Sir Anthony! you surely speak la- 
 conically. 
 
 Sir Anth. Why, Mrs. Malaprop, in moderation, now, 
 what would you have a woman know ? 
 
 Mrs. Mai Observe me. Sir Anthony, I would by no 
 means wish a daughter of mine to be a progeny of learn- 
 ing ; I don't think so much learning becomes a young 
 [ 19] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 woman; for instance, I would never let her meddle with 
 Greek, or Hebrew, or Algebra, or Simony, or Flux- 
 ions, or Paradoxes, or such inflammatory branches of 
 learning — neither would it be necessary for her to han- 
 dle 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 instrufted 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 misspell, and mispro- 
 nounce words so shamefully as girls usually do; and 
 likewise that she might reprehend the true meaning of 
 what she is saying. This, Sir Anthony, is what I would 
 have a woman know; — and I don't think there is a su- 
 perstitious article in it. 
 
 Sir Anth. Well, well, Mrs. Malaprop, I will dispute 
 the point no further with you; though I must confess that 
 you are a truly moderate and polite arguer, for almost 
 every third word you say is on my side of the question. 
 But, Mrs. Malaprop, to the more important point in 
 debate — you say you have no objection to my proposal? 
 
 Mrs. Mai. None, I assure you. I am under no posi- 
 tive engagement with Mr. Acres, and as Lydia is so ob- 
 stinate against him, perhaps your son may have better 
 success. 
 
 Sir Anth. Well, madam, I will write for the boy di- 
 rectly. He knows not a syllable of this yet, though I 
 
 [ 20] 
 
Aa First 
 
 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 An- 
 thony; but I hope no objedtion on his side. 
 
 5/r Anth. Obje6lion! — let him objeft if he dare! — 
 No, no, Mrs. Malaprop, Jack know^s that the least de- 
 mur puts me in a frenzy dire6lly. My process was al- 
 ways 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 con- 
 science! — nothing is so conciliating to young people as 
 severity. — Well, Sir Anthony, I shall give Mr. Acres 
 his discharge, and prepare Lydia to receive your son's 
 invocations; — and I hope you will present her to the 
 captain as an objedl not altogether illegible. 
 
 5/V Anth. Madam, I will handle the subje6l pru- 
 dently. — Well, I must leave you; and let me beg you, 
 Mrs. Malaprop, to enforce this matter roundly to the 
 girl. — Take my advice — keep a tight hand: if she re- 
 je6ts this proposal, clap her under lock and key; and if 
 you were just to let the servants forget to bring her din- 
 ner for three or four days, you can't conceive how she'd 
 come about. \^Ex'it 
 
 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! — 
 
 [21] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 Lucy! — [Cal/s.~\ Had she been one of your artificial 
 ones, I should never have trusted her. 
 
 Reenter Lucy 
 
 Lucy, Did you call, ma'am ? 
 
 Airs. Mai. Yes, girl. — Did you see Sir Lucius while 
 you was out ? 
 
 Lucy. No, indeed, ma'am, not a glimpse of him. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. You are sure, Lucy, that you never men- 
 tioned — 
 
 Lucy. O Gemini ! I'd sooner cut my tongue out. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Well, don't let your simplicity be imposed 
 on. 
 
 Lucy. No, ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. So, come to me presently, and I'll give 
 you another letter to Sir Lucius; but mind, Lucy, — 
 if ever you betray what you are entrusted with (unless 
 it be other people's secrets to me), you forfeit my male- 
 volence for ever ; and your being a simpleton shall be no 
 excuse for your locality. \_Extt 
 
 Lucy. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — So, my dear Simplicity, let me 
 give you a little respite. — [Jltering her manner.'] Let 
 girls in my station be as fond as they please of appear- 
 ing expert, and knowing in their trusts ; commend me 
 to a mask o^ silliness and a pair of sharp eyes for my own 
 interest under it ! — Let me see to what account have 
 I turned my simplicity lately. — \^Looks at a paper.] For 
 abetting Miss Lydia Languish in a design of running away 
 with an ensign! — in money ^ sundry timeSy twelve pounds 
 twelve; gowns^five; hats^ ruffles^ caps^ ^c. ^c, numberless/ 
 — From the said ensign^ within this last month^ six guineas 
 [22], 
 
Tour being a simpleton shall be no excuse for your 
 locality'' 
 

/?%. 
 
AA First 
 
 and a half^ — about a quarter's pay ! — Item^ from Mrs, 
 Malaprop for betraying the young people to her — when I 
 found matters were likely to be discovered — two guineas^ 
 and a black padusoy. — It^vn^ from Mr. Acres^for carrying 
 divers letters — which I never delivered — two guineas^ 
 and a pair of buckles. — \x.^vci^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 sac- 
 rifice the feelings of a gentleman to the necessities of 
 his fortune. \Exit 
 
 [23 J. 
 
Ad II 
 
 Scene I : Captain Absolute's Lodgings 
 
 Captain Absolute and Fag 
 
 FAG. SiRy^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 that I was at 
 Bath ? 
 
 Fag. Sir, in my life I never saw an elderly gentleman 
 more astonished! He started back two or three paces, 
 rapped out a dozen interje6lural oaths, and asked what 
 the devil had brought you here. 
 
 Abs. Well, sir, and what did you say? 
 
 Fag. Oh, I'll ed, sir — I forget the precise lie ; but you 
 may depend on't, he got no truth from me. Yet, with 
 submission, for fear of blunders in future, I should be 
 glad to fix what has brought us to Bath ; in order that 
 we may lie a little consistently. Sir Anthony's servants 
 were curious, sir, very curious indeed. 
 
 Abs, You have said nothing to them — ? 
 
 Fag, Oh, not a word, sir, — not a word! Mr. Thomas, 
 indeed, the coachman (whom I take to be the discreet- 
 est of whips) — 
 \Abs. 'Sdeath! — you rascal! you have not trusted him! 
 
 Fag, Oh, noy 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 Tho- 
 mas, (you know, sir, one says honest to one's inferiors,) is 
 
 [25 ] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 come to Bath to recruit — yes, sir, I said to recruit — and 
 whether for men, money, or constitution, you know, 
 sir, is nothing to him, nor any one else. 
 
 Abs. Well, recruit will do — let it be so. 
 (^Fag. Oh, sir, recruit will do surprisingly — indeed, to 
 give the thing an air, I told Thomas, that your honour 
 had already enlisted five disbanded chairmen, seven mi- 
 nority waiters, and thirteen billiard-markers. 
 
 Abs. You blockhead, never say more than is neces- 
 sary. 
 
 Fag. I beg pardon, sir — I beg pardon — but, with 
 submission, a lie is nothing unless one supports it. Sir, 
 whenever I draw on my invention for a good current 
 lie, I always forge indorsements as well as the bill. 
 
 Abs. Well, take care you don't hurt your credit, by 
 offering too much security. — Is Mr. Faulkland re- 
 turned ? 
 
 Fag. He is above, sir, changing his dress. 
 
 Abs. Can you tell whether he has been informed of 
 Sir Anthony'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 remem- 
 ber that we are recruitingy 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 
 
 [26] 
 
yet It Ik 
 
 ■\«v\'iTO\n. \;^^^^ 
 
eniisteu 
 ers, and i- 
 ;' blockhe3< 
 
 ilti> Ho, V 
 
 Wbat can the girl mean?' 
 
AA Second 
 
 esteem it as an obligation ; for though I never scruple 
 to 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 be- 
 fore I tell him — 
 
 Enter Faulkland i- 
 Faulkland, you're welcome to Bath again; you are 
 punftual in your return. 
 
 Faulk. Yes ; I had nothing to detain me ; when I had 
 finished the business I went on. Well, what news since 
 I left you? How stand matters between you and Lydia? 
 
 Abs. Faith, much as they were ; I have not seen her ) 
 /since our quarrel ; however, I expeft 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 theTrfJ^u 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 I am 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 
 
 [27] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 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. ^" ' 
 
 Jbs. By heavens! I shall forswear your company. 
 You are the most teasing, captious, incorrigible lover! 
 — Do love like a man. ^J:' 
 
 /Faulk. I own I am unfit for company. 
 ! Abs. Am not / a Ipver ; 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 obje6t. You throw 
 for a large stake, but losing, you could stake and throw 
 again: — but I have set my sum of happiness on this 
 cast, and not to succeed were to be stripped of all. 
 
 Abs. But, for Heaven's sake ! what grounds for ap- 
 prehension can your whimsical brain conjure up at 
 present ? 
 A^'^" Faulk. What grounds for apprehension, did you say? 
 Heavens! are there not a thousand ! I fear for her spirits 
 — her health — her life. — My absence may fret her; her 
 anxiety for my return, her fears for me, may oppress 
 her gentle temper : and for her health, does not every 
 hour bring me cause to be alarmed ? If it rains, some 
 shower may even then have chilled her delicate frame! 
 If the wind be keen, some rude blast may have afiPedled 
 her ! The heat of noon, the dews of the evening, may 
 endanger the life of her, for whom only I value mine. 
 
 [ 28] 
 
Aa Second 
 
 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 ! /2ei-^ i' 
 L Abs. Ay, but we may choose whether we will take 
 the hint or not. — So, then, Faulkland, if you were con- 
 vinced that Julia were well and in spirits, you would be 
 entirely content? 
 
 ^ Faulk. I should be happy beyond measure — I am anx- 
 ious only for that. 
 
 Ahs. Then to cure your anxiety at once — Miss Mel- 
 ville is in perfe6l health, and is at this moment in Bath. 
 
 Faulk. Nay, Jack — don't trifle with me. 
 
 Ahs. She is arrived here with my father within this 
 hour. 
 
 Faulk. Can you be serious? 
 
 Ahs. 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. [_ 
 
 Reenter Fag 
 
 Fag. Sir, Mr. Acres, just arrived, is below. 
 
 Ahs. 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 gen- 
 tleman up. d^^^^* Jk-^ [^A-zV Fag 
 
 i^^«/>rWhaf, is he much acquainted in the family? 
 
 [ 29] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 Abs. Oh, very intimate : I insist on your not going : 
 besides, his charafter 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 selfsy for he does not think his friend Captain 
 Absolute ever saw the lady in question; and it is ridicu- 
 lous enough to hear him complain to me of one Bever- 
 ley^ a concealed skulking rival, who — 
 
 Faulk. Hush! — he's here. 
 
 Enter Acres 
 
 Acres. Ha! my dear friend, noble captain, and honest 
 Jack, how do'st thou? just arrived, faith, as you see. — 
 Sir, your humble servant. — Warm work on the roads, 
 Jack! — Odds whips and wheels! I've travelled like a 
 comet, with a tail of dust all the way as long as the 
 Mall. 
 
 Abs. Ah ! Bob, you are indeed an eccentric planet, but 
 we know your attra6lion 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. 
 
 t\ Acres. Odso! she and your father can be but just ar- 
 
 .riv^d. before me : — I suppose you have seen them,, Ah! 
 
 Mr. Faulkland, you are indeed a happy man. ^ /^X<l 
 
 ^ 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 
 
 [30] 
 
 1H4 1*^'^ 
 
Ad Second 
 
 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. 
 , ^ jM' Acres. False, false, sir — only said to vex you: quite 
 ''^- ' the reverse, I assure you. 
 
 Fau/k. There Jack, you see she has the advantage of 
 me; I had almost fretted myself ill. 
 r Jbs. Novvr are you angry with your mistress for not 
 having been sick ? 
 
 Faulk. No, no, you misunderstand me : yet surely a 
 little trifling indisposition is not an unnatural conse- 
 quence of absence from those we love. — Now confess 
 — isn't there something unkind in this violent, robust, 
 unfeeling health ? 
 y Jbs. Oh, it was very unkind of her to be well in your 
 
 absence, to be sure ! 
 
 Jcres. Good apartments, Jack. 
 ,, Faulk. Well, sir, but you were 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 belle 
 and spirit of the company wherever she has been — so 
 lively and entertaining! so full of wit and humour! 
 
 Faulk. There, Jack, there. — Oh, by my soul! there 
 is an innate levity in woman, that nothing can over- 
 come. — What! happy, and I away! 
 
 Ahs. Have done! How foolish this is! just now you 
 were only apprehensive for your mistress's spirits. 
 
 [31 ] 
 

 The Rivals 
 
 Faulk. Why, Jack, have I been the joy and spirit of 
 the company? 
 
 Abs. No indeed, you have not. 
 , Faulk. Have I been lively and entertaining? 
 Abs. Oh, upon my word, I acquit you. 
 ' Faulk. Have I been full of wit and humour ? 
 Abs. No, faith, to do you justice, you have been con- 
 foundedly stupid indeed. 
 
 Acres. What 's the matter with the gentleman ? 
 Abs. He is only expressing his great satisfaction at 
 earing that Julia has been so well and happy — that's 
 all — hey, Faulkland? 
 L. Faulk. Oh! I am rejoiced to hear it — yes, yes, she 
 
 has a happy disposition! 
 '^ < Acres. That she has indeed — then she is so accom- 
 plished — so sweet a voice — so expert at her harpsi- 
 chord — such a mistress of flat and sharp, squallante, 
 rumblante,andquiverante! — There was this time month 
 — Odds minims and crotchets I how^she did chirrup at 
 Mrs. Piano's concert! -T l' 
 
 .-'F'aulk. There again, what say you to this ? you see 
 ^be has been all mirth and song — not a thought of me! 
 i Abs. Pho ! man, is not music the food of love ? 
 
 Faulk. Well, well, it may be so. — Pray, Mr. , 
 
 what's his damned name? — Do you remember what 
 songs Miss Melville sung? 
 
 Acres. Not I indeed. 
 
 Abs. Stay, now, they were some pretty melancholy 
 purling-stream airs, I warrant ; perhaps you may recol- 
 
 [32] 
 
Ad Second 
 
 le6l; — did she sing, When absent from my souFs delight? 
 
 Acres. No, that wa'n't it. 
 
 Abs. Or, G(?, gentle gales! — Go^ gentle gales I 
 
 [Sings 
 
 Acres. Oh, no! nothing like it. Odds! now I recolleft 
 one of them — My hearths my own^ my will is free. 
 
 \^ings 
 
 Faulk. Fool! fool that I am! to fix all my happiness 
 on such a trifler! 'Sdeath! to make herself the pipe and 
 ballad-monger of a circle! to soothe her light heart with 
 --$•/ fi 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 soon 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! 
 ikA- 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 — . ^ ' y ^^ ' % 
 
 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 opposi- 
 tion with mine; — I have been anxious, silent, pensive, 
 sedentary — my days have been hours of care, my nights 
 
 [33] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 of watchfulness. — She has been all health! spirit! laugh 1 
 song! dance! — Oh! damned, damned levity! 
 
 Jbs. For Heaven's sake, Faulkland, don't expose your- 
 self so! — Suppose she has danced, what then? — does 
 not the ceremony of society often oblige — 
 
 Faulk, Well, well, I'll contain myself — perhaps as 
 you say — for form sake. — What, Mr. Acres, you were 
 praising Miss Melville's manner of dancing a minuet — 
 hey? 
 
 Acres. Oh, I dare insure her for that — but what I was 
 going to speak of was her country-dancing. Odds swim- 
 mings ! 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! — Zounds! had she made one in a cotillon — I be- 
 lieve 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 man- 
 aged filly! — Oh, Jack, there never can be but one man 
 in the world whom a truly modest and delicate woman 
 ought to pair with in a country-dance ; and, even then, the 
 rest of the couples should be her great-uncles and aunts! 
 
 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 adion of their pulse 
 beats to the lascivious movement of the jig — their quiv- 
 ering, warm-breathed sighs impregnate the very air — the 
 
 [34] 
 

 ** My hair has been in training for some time " 
 
•i-ir^il 'i??^^'- "^v\ "^\^\•\\Ui'♦^ ^\ ^v"i 
 
Ad Second 
 
 atmosphere becomes eleftrical to love, and each amo- 
 rous spark darts through every link of the chain! — I must 
 leave you — I ow^n I am somewhat flurried — and that 
 confounded looby has perceived it. [Going f' 
 
 Abs. Nay, but stay, Faulkland, and thank Mr. Acres ^^ 
 for his good nev^^s. 
 
 Faulk. Damn his nev^s! V^^^^ l^^tJ 
 
 Abs. Ha ! ha ! ha ! poor Faulkland, five minutes since — ' 
 "nothing on earth could give him a moment's uneasi- 
 ness!" 
 
 Acres. The gentleman wa'n't angry at my praising 
 his mistress, was he? _,^v..4',.i^<,r_ <. 
 ■ 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 fro2:s and tambours! I shan't take matters so here, 
 now ancient madam has no voice in it : I '11 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 ! 
 p jv:^^ Acres. Ay — and thofFthe side curls are a little restive, 
 my hind-part takes it very kindly. 
 
 [35] 
 
/ The Rivals 
 
 w Abs. Oh, you'll polish, I doubt not. 
 ^ i- 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 swearing — 
 
 Acres. Ha! ha! you've taken notice of it — 'tis gen- 
 teel, isn't it? — I didn't invent it myself, though; but 
 a commander in our militia, a great scholar, I assure 
 you, says that there is no meaning in the common 
 oaths, and that nothing but their antiquity makes them 
 respectable ; — because, he says, the ancients would never 
 stick to an oath or two, but would say, by Jove! or by 
 Bacchus! or by Mars! or by Venus! or by Pallas! ac- 
 cording to the sentiment : so that to swear with propri- 
 ety, says my little major, the oath should be an echo to 
 the sense ; and this we call the oath referential or senti- 
 mental swearing — ha! ha! 'tis genteel, isn't it? 
 
 Abs. Very genteel, and very new, indeed! — and I 
 dare say will supplant all other figures of imprecation. 
 
 Acres. Ay, ay, the best terms will grow obsolete. — 
 Damns have had their day. 
 
 Reenter 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. 
 
 [36] 
 
AS: Second 
 
 Jbs. You puppy, why did n't you show him up di- 
 reaiy ? [Exit Fag 
 
 hA\ip/icres, You have business with Sir Anthony. — I ex- 
 ^ ' ped: 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. v 
 
 Abs. That I will with all my heart. — [Exit Acres.] ,,^ .; ^ 
 Now for a parental lefture — I hope he has heard no- 
 thing 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 Absolute 
 Sir, I am delighted to see you here: looking so well! 
 your sudden arrival at Bath made me apprehensive for 
 your health. 
 
 Sir Jnth. Very apprehensive, I dare say. Jack. — 
 What, you are recruiting here, hey ? 
 
 Jbs. Yes, sir, I am on duty. 
 
 Sir Anth. Well, Jack, I am glad to see you, though 
 I did not expe6l it, for Lvk^ goinff to write you on a 
 little matter of business.-^ Jack, I have been considering 
 that I grow old and infirm, and shall probably not trou- 
 ble you long. 
 A* c 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 
 ■^ [ 37 ] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 a long time. — Now, Jack, I am sensible that the in- 
 come of your commission, and what I have hitherto al- 
 lowed 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. "J^-;- ^' 
 
 Abs. Sir, your kindness overpowers me — such gen-^- 
 erosity makes the gratitude of reason more lively than 
 the sensations even of filial afFeftion. 
 
 Sir Anth. I am glad you are so sensible of my atten- 
 tion — and you shall be master of a large estate in a few 
 weeks. 
 
 Abs. Let my future life, sir, speak my gratitude; I 
 cannot express the sense I have of your munificence. — 
 Yet, sir, I presume you would not wish me to quit the 
 army ? 
 
 Sir Anth. Oh, that shall be as your wife chooses. 
 
 Abs. My wife, sir! 
 
 Sir Anth. Ay, ay, settle that between you — settle 
 that between you. 
 
 Abs. A wifcy 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 must n't forget her^ though. — 
 Yes, Jack, the independence I was talking of is by mar- 
 riage — the fortune is saddled with a wife — but I sup- 
 pose that makes no difference. 
 
 [ 38 ] 
 
Ad Second 
 
 ly^ Ah. 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. 
 
 Jbs. 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. 
 
 Jbs. If my happiness is to be tjje. prix:e, 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 diredlly. 
 ^ . Abs. Sure, sir, this is not very reasonable to summon 
 my affe6tions for a lady I know nothing of! 
 
 Sir Anth, I am sure, sir, 't is more unreasonable in 
 you to object to a lady you know nothing of. 
 
 Abs. Then, sir, I must tell you plainly that my in- 
 clinations 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 
 [ 39] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 some time with patience — I have been cool — quite 
 cool; but take care — you know I am compliance it- 
 self — when I am not thwarted ; — no one more easily 
 led — when I have my own way; — but don't put me 
 in a frenzy. 
 
 /R^ Abs. Sir, I must repeat it — in this I cannot obey you. 
 Sir Anth. Now damn m^! if ever I call you Jack 
 again while I live! ^' -^^ /- 
 OrA./><> Ahs. 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 — 
 
 " Ahs. What, sir, promise to link myself to some mass 
 of ugliness! to — 
 ^ Sir Anth. Zounds! sirrah! the lady shall be as ugly 
 as I choose: she shall have a hump on each shoulder! 
 she shall be as crooked as the Crescent ; her one eye shall 
 roll like the bull's in Cox's Museum; she shall have a 
 skin like a mummy, and the beard of a Jew — she shall 
 be all this, sirrah! — yet I will make you ogle her all 
 day, and sit up all night to write sonnets on her beauty. 
 
 Ahs. This is reason and moderation indeed ! (j^ j£#<*^ ^ ^ 
 Sir Anth. None of your sneering, puppy ! no grin- 
 ning, jackanapes! 
 
 Ahs. Indeed, sir, I never was in a worse humour for 
 mirth in my life. 
 C^\^^'' Sir Anth. 'Tis false, sir; I know you are laughing 
 U 't-</*"» jfj yQ^j sleeve ; I know you'll grin when I am gone, 
 sirrah ! 
 
 [40] 
 
■Hr^^i 
 
 ** fFh^jf, sir, promise to lt?ik myself to some mass of 
 ugliness! ' ' 
 
A& Second 
 
 yfbs. 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. 
 
 jibs. 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 hypo- 
 critical 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 re- 
 probate! — There, you sneer again! — don't provoke 
 me! — but you rely upon the mildness of my temper — 
 you do, you dog ! you play upon the meekness of my 
 disposition! — Yet take care — the patience of a saint 
 may be overcome at last! — but mark! I give you six 
 hours and a half to consider of this : if you then agree, 
 without any condition, to do everything on earth that 
 I choose, why — confound you! I may in time forgive 
 you. — If not, zounds! don't enter the same hemisphere 
 with me! don't dare to breathe the same air or use the 
 same light with me; but get an atmosphere and sun of 
 your own! I'll strip you of your commission ; I'll lodge 
 a five-and-threepence in the hands of trustees, and you 
 shall live on the interest. — I'll disown you, I'll disin- 
 herit you, I '11 unget you ! and damn me ! if ever I call 
 you Jack again ! v 
 
 Abs, Mild, gentle, considerate father — I kiss youf 
 hands! — What a tender method of giving his opinion 
 
 [41 ] 
 
 r ever 1 call 
 
 [Exit f\ p 
 I kiss vour ^ 
 
The Rivals 
 
 in these matters Sir Anthony has! I dare not trust him 
 with the truth. — I wonder what old wealthy hag it is 
 that he wants to bestow on me! — Yet he married him- 
 self for love ! and was in his youth a bold intriguer, and 
 a gay companion ! 
 
 Reenter Fag 
 
 Fag, Assuredly, sir, your father is wrath to a degree ; 
 he comes down-stairs eight or ten steps at a time — 
 muttering, growling, and thumping the banisters all the 
 way : I and the cook's dog stand bowing at the door — 
 rapl he gives me a stroke on the head with his cane; 
 bids me carry that to my master; then kicking the poor 
 turnspit into the area, damns us all, for a puppy trium- 
 virate! — Upon my credit, sir, were I in your place, and 
 found my father such very bad company, I should cer- 
 tainly 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. 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 — 
 
 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! 
 
 [42] 
 
AS: Second 
 
 Fag. Quick! quick! you impudent jackanapes! am I 
 to be commanded by you too? you little impertinent, 
 insolent, kitchen-bred — 
 
 \_Exity kicking and beating him 
 
 Scene II : The North Parade 
 Enter Lucy 
 
 Lucy. So — I shall have another rival to add to my mis- 
 tress's list — Captain Absolute. How^ever, 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 knov^^ that Beverley was 
 here before him. — Sir Lucius is generally more punftual, 
 when he experts to hear from his dear Dalia^ as he calls 
 her: I wonder he's not here!. — I l^^ave a little scruple 
 of conscience from this deceit; though L^hould not be 
 paid so well, if my hero knew that Delia was'Tnear fifty, 
 and her own mistress. 
 
 Enter Sir Lucius O'Trigger 
 
 Sir Luc. Ha! my little ambassadress — upon my con- 
 science, I have been looking for you ; I have been on 
 the South Parade this half hour. 
 
 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 's very comical too, how you could go 
 out and I not see you — for I was only taking a nap at 
 the Parade Coffee-house, and I chose the window on 
 purpose that I might not miss you. 
 [43] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 Lucy. My stars! Now IM 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 
 girl, have you got nothing for me? 
 
 Lucy. Yes, but I have — I've got a letter for you in 
 my pocket. 
 
 Sir Luc. Oh, faith ! I guessed you were n't come empty- 
 handed — well — let me see what the dear creature says. 
 
 Lucy. There, Sir Lucius. [Gives him a letter 
 
 Sir Luc. \^Reads.^ Sir — there is often a sudden incentive 
 impulse in love, that has a greater indu^ion 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 punSfuation forbids me 
 to say morey yet let me add^ that it will give me joy infal- 
 lible to find Sir Lucius worthy the last criterion of my 
 affeSiions. ^^^^^ 
 
 Upon my conscience! Lucy, your lady is a great mis- 
 tress of language. Faith, she's quite the queen of the 
 diftionary! — for the devil a word dare refuse coming to 
 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. Oh, true, sir — but then she reads so — my 
 stars! how she will read offhand! 
 
 Sir Luc. Faith she must be very deep read to write 
 this way^ — though she is rather an arbitrary writer too 
 
 [44] 
 
"^%% 
 
 " Take a kiss beforehand to put you in mind' 
 
dreamt i 
 'lave you 
 ■y. Yes, 1 
 
 ; jxocket. 
 
 Sir Luc. Oh 
 
 Drettv, upon r 
 
 H it wtil give rru 
 
 W\x^ t\x KJiv \vi(S, Q\ ^w;i5^'i-^*\^^ lui V. ^^^Tt »» 
 
AS: Second 
 
 — for here are a great many poor words pressed into 
 the service of this note that would get their habeas cor- 
 pus from any court in Christendom. 
 
 Lucy. Ah ! Sir Lucius, if you were to hear how she 
 talks of you! 
 
 Sir Luc. Oh, tell her Pll make her the best husband 
 in the world, and Lady O'Trigger into the bargain] — 
 But we must get the old gentlewoman's consent — and 
 do everything fairly. 
 
 Lucy. Nay, Sir Lucius, I thought you wa'n't rich 
 enough to be so nice! 
 
 Sir Luc. Upon my word, young woman, you have 
 hit it : — I am so poor, that I can't afford to do a dirty 
 aftion. — If I did not want money, I'd steal your mis- 
 tress and her fortune with a great deal of pleasure. — 
 However, my pretty girl, [gives her money'\ here's a little 
 something to buy you a ribbon ; and meet me in the 
 evening, and Pll give you an answer to this. So, hussy, 
 take a kiss beforehand to put you in mind. [Kisses her 
 
 Lucy. O Lud! Sir Lucius — I never seed such a 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 jyou 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! Pll make it a truth 
 presently. 
 
 Lucy. For shame now ! here is some one coming. 
 [45 ] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 Sir Luc. Oh, faith, PU 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 
 h'ttle less simplicity, with a grain or two more sincerity, 
 if you please. — You play false with us, madam. — I 
 saw you give the baronet a letter. — My master shall 
 know this — and if he don't call him out, I will. 
 
 Lucy. Ha ! ha ! ha ! you gentlemen's gentlemen are 
 so hasty. — That letter was from Mrs. Malaprop, sim- 
 pleton. — She is taken with Sir Lucius's address. 
 
 Fag. How ! what tastes some people have ! — Why, I 
 suppose I have walked by her window a hundred times. 
 — But what says our young lady? any message to my 
 master ? 
 
 Lucy. Sad news, Mr. Fag. — A worse rival than 
 Acres ! Sir Anthony Absolute has proposed his son. 
 
 Fag. What, Captain Absolute? 
 
 Lucy. Even so — I overheard it all. 
 
 Fag. Ha ! ha ! ha ! very good, faith. Good-by, Lucy ; 
 I must away with this news. 
 
 Lucy. Well, you may laugh — but it is true, I assure 
 you. — [Going.^ But, Mr. Fag, tell your master not to 
 be cast down by this. 
 
 Fag. Oh, he'll be so disconsolate! 
 
 Lucy. And charge him not to think of quarrelling 
 with young Absolute. 
 
 [46] 
 
Ad Second 
 
 Fag. Never fear ! never fear ! 
 
 Lucy. Be sure — bid him keep up his spirits. 
 
 Fag. We will— we will. \Exeunt severally 
 
 [47 ] 
 
 ^ - . 
 
Aa III 
 
 Scene I : The North Parade 
 
 Enter Captain Absolute 
 
 ABS. 'T IS just as Fag told me, indeed. Whimsical 
 . enough, faith! My father wants to force me to 
 marry the very girl I am plotting to run away with ! He 
 must not know of my connection with her yet awhile. 
 He has too summary a method of proceeding in these 
 matters. However, I '11 read my recantation instantly. My 
 conversion is something sudden, indeed — but I can as- 
 sure him it is very sincere. So, so — here he comes. He 
 looks plaguy gruff. \_Steps aside 
 
 Enter Sir Anthony Absolute 
 Sir Anth. No, I '11 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 al- 
 lowing him fifty pounds a year, besides his pay, ever 
 since! But I have done with him; he's anybody's son 
 for me. I never will see him more, never — never — 
 never. 
 
 Abs. [Aside, coming forward.] Now for a penitential 
 face. 
 
 Sir Jnth, Fellow, get out of my way ! 
 
 [49] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 Jbs, Sir, you see a penitent before you.. 
 
 Sir Anth. I see an impudent scoundrel before me. 
 
 Ahs. A sincere penitent. I am come, sir, to acknow- 
 ledge my error, and to submit entirely to your will. 
 
 Sir Anth. What's that? 
 
 Ahs. 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 ? 
 
 Ahs. Why then, sir, the result of my reflexions is — 
 a resolution to sacrifice every inclination of my own to 
 your satisfaction. 
 
 Sir Anth. V<f\\y^ now you talk sense — absolute sense — 
 I never heard anything more sensible in my life. Con- 
 found you ! you shall be Jack again. 
 
 Ahs, 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 tell- 
 ing you at first. Prepare, Jack, for wonder and rapture — 
 prepare. What think you of Miss Lydia Languish ? 
 
 Ahs. Languish 1 What, the Languishes of Worcester- 
 shire ? 
 
 Sir Anth. Worcestershire ! no. Did you never meet 
 Mrs. Malaprop and her niece. Miss Languish, who came 
 
 [50] 
 
Aa Third 
 
 into our country just before you were last ordered to 
 your regiment? 
 
 Jhs. Malaprop ! Languish ! I don't remember ever to 
 have heard the names before. Yet, stay — I think I do 
 recolle6l something. Languish! Languish! She squints, 
 don't she ? A h'ttle red-haired girl ? 
 
 Sir Jnth. Squints! a red-haired girl! Zounds! no. 
 
 Abs. Then I must have forgot; it can't be the same 
 person. 
 
 Sir Jnth. Jack! Jack! what think you of blooming, 
 love-breathing seventeen ? 
 
 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 in- 
 nocently wild ! so bashfully irresolute ! not a glance but 
 speaks and kindles some thought of love! Then, Jack, 
 her cheeks! her cheeks. Jack! so deeply blushing at the 
 insinuations of her tell-tale eyes! Then, Jack, her lips! 
 O Jack, lips smiling at their own discretion ; and if not 
 smiling, more sweetly pouting ; more lovely in sullen- 
 ness! 
 
 Abs. That's she indeed. Well done, old gentleman. 
 
 [Aside 
 
 Sir Anth. Then, Jack, her neck! O Jack! Jack! 
 
 Abs. And which is to be mine, sir, the niece or the 
 aunt ? 
 
 Sir Anth. Why, you unfeeling, insensible puppy, I de- 
 spise 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 
 
 [51 ] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 not have touched anything old or ugly to gain an empire. 
 
 Abs. Not to please your father, sir ? 
 
 Sir Anth. To please my father ! zounds ! not to please 
 — Oh, my father — odd so! — yes — yes; if my father in- 
 deed 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 recolleft, 
 you before hinted something about a hump or two, one 
 eye, and a few more graces of that kind — now, with- 
 out being very nice, I own I should rather choose a wife 
 of mine to have the usual number of limbs, and a lim- 
 ited 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 aifecSt a singularity in that 
 article. 
 
 Sir Anth. What a phlegmatic sot it is! Why, sirrah, 
 you're an anchorite! — a vile, insensible stock. You a 
 soldier! — you're a walking block, fit only to dust the 
 company's regimentals on! Odds life! I have a great 
 mind to marry the girl myself. 
 
 Abs. I am entirely at your disposal, sir: if you should 
 think of addressing Miss Languish yourself, I suppose 
 you would have me marry the aunt; or if you should 
 change your mind and take the old lady — 't is the same 
 to me — I '11 marry the niece. 
 
 [52 ] 
 
Adt Third 
 
 Sir Anth. Upon my word, Jack, thou'rt either a very- 
 great hypocrite, or — but come, I know your indiffer- 
 ence on such a subjeft must be all a lie — Pm 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. Pm sorry, sir, that the respedl and duty which I 
 bear to you should be so mistaken. 
 
 Sir Anth. Hang your respedl and duty! But come 
 along with me; I'll write a note to Mrs. Malaprop, and 
 you shall visit the lady direftly. Her eyes shall be the 
 Promethean torch to you — come along; I'll never for- 
 give you, if you don't come back stark mad with rap- 
 ture and impatience — if you don't, egad, I will marry 
 the girl myself! [Exeunt 
 
 Scene II : Julia's Dressing-room 
 Faulkland discovered alone 
 
 Faulk. They told me Julia would return direftly; I 
 wonder she is not yet come ! How mean does this cap- 
 tious, 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 subje6t, and to this one 
 subje6t, whom I think I love beyond my life, I am 
 ever ungenerously fretful and madly capricious! I am 
 conscious of it — yet I cannot corre6l myself! What 
 tender, honest joy sparkled in her eyes when we met! 
 
 [ 53] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 how delicate was the warmth of her expressions! I was 
 ashamed to appear less happy — though I had come re- 
 solved to wear a face of coolness and upbraiding. Sir An- 
 thony's presence prevented my proposed expostulations: 
 yet I must be satisfied that she has not been so very 
 happy in my absence. She is coming! Yes! — I know 
 the nimbleness of her tread, when she thinks her impa- 
 tient Faulkland counts the moments of her stay. 
 
 Enter Julia 
 
 Jul. I had not hoped to see you again so soon. 
 
 Faulk. Could I, Julia, be contented with my first wel- 
 come — restrained as we were by the presence of a third 
 person ? 
 
 yuL O Faulkland, when your kindness can make me 
 thus happy, let me not think that I discovered some- 
 thing of coldness in your first salutation. 
 
 Faulk. 'Twas but your fancy, Julia. I was rejoiced 
 to see you — to see you in such health. Sure I had no 
 cause for coldness ? 
 
 yuL 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 neigh- 
 bour Acres, was somewhat damped by his dwelling much 
 on the high spirits you had enjoyed in Devonshire — 
 on your mirth — your singing — dancing, and I know 
 not what ? For such is my temper, Julia, that I should 
 regard every mirthful moment in your absence as a 
 treason to constancy. The mutual tear that steals down 
 the cheek of parting lovers is a compaft that no smile 
 
 [ 54] 
 
Aa Third 
 
 shall live there till they meet again. 
 
 yul. Must I never cease to tax my Faulkland w^ith 
 this teasing minute caprice ? Can the idle reports of a 
 silly boor w^eigh in your breast against my tried aflPec- 
 tion ? 
 
 Faulk. They have no w^eight w^ith me, Julia : no, no 
 — I am happy if you have been so — yet only say that 
 you did not sing with mirth — say that you thought of 
 Faulkland in the dance. 
 
 Jul. I never can be happy in your absence. If I vi^ear 
 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 rov- 
 ing and my own credulity. Believe me, Faulkland, I 
 mean not to upbraid you when I say that I have often 
 dressed sorrow in smiles, lest my friends should guess 
 whose unkindness had caused my tears. 
 
 Faulk. You were ever all goodness to me. Oh, I am 
 a brute, when I but admit a doubt of your true con- 
 stancy ! 
 
 Jul. If ever without such cause from you, as I will 
 not suppose possible, you find my afFe6tions veering but 
 a point, may I become a proverbial scofF for levity and 
 base ingratitude. 
 
 Faulk. Ah ! Julia, that last word is grating to me. I 
 would I had no title to your gratitude! Search your 
 heart, Julia; perhaps what you have mistaken for love 
 is but the warm effusion of a too thankful heart. 
 
 Jul. For what quality must I love you? 
 
 [ 55 ] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 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 affedlion. 
 
 yuL Where nature has bestowed a show of nice at- 
 tention 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 de- 
 spise person in a man — yet if you loved me as I wish, 
 though I were an ^Ethiop, you'd think none so fair. 
 
 Jul. I see you are determined to be unkind! The 
 contract which my poor father bound us in gives you. 
 more than a lover's privilege. 
 
 Faulk. Again, Julia, you raise ideas that feed and 
 justify my doubts. I would not have been more free — 
 no — I am proud of my restraint. Yet — yet — perhaps 
 your high respe6l alone for this solemn compa6l has 
 fettered your inclinations, which else had made a wor- 
 thier choice. How shall I be sure, had you remained un- 
 bound in thought and promise, that I should still have 
 been the obje6t of your persevering love? 
 
 yul. 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! 
 
 yul. Oh ! you torture me to the heart! I cannot bear it! 
 
 [ 56] 
 
Ad Third 
 
 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 di6lates of prudence, gratitude, or 
 filial duty may sometimes be mistaken for the pleadings 
 of the heart. I would not boast — yet let me say that I 
 have neither age, person, nor chara6ler to found dis- 
 like on ; my fortune such as few ladies could be charged 
 with indiscretion in the match. O Julia! when love re- 
 ceives such countenance from prudence, nice minds will 
 be suspicious of its birth. 
 
 Jul. I know not whither your insinuations would 
 tend : — but as they seem pressing to insult me, I will 
 spare you the regret of having done so. I have given you 
 no cause for this! \Exit in tears 
 
 Faulk, In tears ! Stay, Julia : stay but for a moment. 
 — The door is fastened! — Julia! — my soul! — but for 
 one moment! — I hear her sobbing — 'Sdeath! — what 
 a brute am I to use her thus! Yet stay. — Ay — she is 
 coming now : — how little resolution there is in woman! 
 — how a few soft words can turn them! — No, faith! — 
 she is not coming either. — Why, Julia — my love — 
 say but that you forgive me — come but to tell me that 
 — now this is being too resentful. Stay! she is coming 
 too — I thought she would — no steadiness in anything: 
 her going away must have been a mere trick, then — 
 she shan't see that I was hurt by it. — I'll affeft in- 
 difference — [Hums a tune: then listens.^ No — zounds! 
 she's not coming! — nor don't intend it, I suppose. — 
 
 [57] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 This is not steadiness, but obstinacy ! Yet I deserve it. 
 — What, after so long an absence to quarrel with her 
 tenderness! — 'twas barbarous and unmanly! I should 
 be ashamed to see her now. — I '11 wait till her just re- 
 sentment is abated — and when I distress her so again, 
 may I lose her for ever! and be linked instead to some 
 antique virago, whose gnawing passions and long-hoarded 
 spleen shall make me curse my folly half the day and 
 all the night. [Exit 
 
 Scene III : Mrs. Malaprop's Lodgings 
 
 Mrs. Malaprop, with a letter in her hand^ and Cap- 
 tain 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 chara6ler 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 hon- 
 our of being allied to Mrs. Malaprop, of whose intel- 
 le6lual accomplishments, elegant manners, and unaf- 
 fected learning, no tongue is silent. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Sir, you do me infinite honour! I beg, cap- 
 tain, you'll be seated. — \T^hey 5/V.] Ah ! few gentlemen, 
 now-a-days, know how to value the ineffeftual quali- 
 ties in a woman ! few think how a little knowledge be- 
 comes a gentlewoman! — Men have no sense now but 
 for the worthless flower of beauty ! 
 
 [58] 
 
m 
 
 He is the very pine-apple of politeness 
 
m«^Vu.,^> 'i\,5^<^;,-MU<^ VVV3 '.^^ u %H 
 
Adt Third 
 
 Jbs. It is but too true, indeed, ma'am; — yet I fear 
 our ladies should share the blame — they think our ad- 
 miration of beauty so great that knowledge in them 
 would be superfluous. Thus, like garden-trees, they sel- 
 dom 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, MaL Sir, you overpower me with good breed- 
 ing. — He is the very pine-apple of politeness! You are 
 not ignorant, captain, that this giddy girl has somehow 
 contrived to fix her affeftions on a beggarly, strolling, 
 eaves-dropping ensign, whom none of us have seen, and 
 nobody knows anything of. 
 
 Abs. Oh, I have heard the silly affair before. — I'm 
 not at all prejudiced against her on that account. 
 
 Mrs. MaL 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 
 conjun6lions on her, never to think on the fellow again ; 
 — I have since laid Sir Anthony's preposition before her ; 
 but I am sorry to say she seems resolved to decline every 
 particle that I enjoin her. 
 
 Abs. It must be very distressing, indeed, ma'am. 
 
 Mrs, Mai. Oh, it gives me the hydrostatics to such 
 a degree. — I thought she had persisted from correspond- 
 ing with him ; but, behold, this very day, I have inter- 
 ceded another letter from the fellow ; I believe I have 
 it in my pocket. 
 
 Abs. Oh, the devil! my last note. [Aside 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Ay, here it is. 
 
 [59] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 Ahs. Ay, my note indeed! O the little traitress Lucy! 
 
 \^Aside 
 
 Mrs. Mai, There, perhaps you may know the writ- 
 ing. \Glves him the letter 
 
 Ah. I think I have seen the hand before — yes, I cer- 
 tainly must have seen this hand before — 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Nay, but read it, captain. 
 
 Abs. \Reads^ My souVs idol^ ?ny adored Lydia I — Very 
 tender indeed! 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Tender ! ay, and profane too, o' my con- 
 science. 
 
 Abs. [Reads.^ I am excessively alarmed at the intelli- 
 gence you send me^ the more so as my new rival — 
 
 Mrs. Mai. That's you, sir. 
 
 Abs. \^Reads.^ Has universally the charaSfer of being an 
 accomplished gentleman and a man of honour. — Well, that's 
 handsome enough. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Oh, the fellow has some design in writ- 
 ing so. 
 
 Abs. That he had, I'll answer for him, ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. But go on, sir — you'll see presently. 
 
 Abs. \^Reads.^ As for the old weather-beaten she-dragon 
 who guards you — Who can he mean by that? 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Me, sir — me! he means me! — There 
 — what do you think now? — but go on a little fur- 
 ther. 
 
 Abs. Impudent scoundrel! — \^Reads.^ it shall go hard 
 but I will elude her vigilance^ as I am told that the same 
 ridiculous vanity which makes her dress up her coarse fea- 
 
 [60] 
 
Me, sir - me! he means me !** 
 
''\ sw iw^i^ri^ ^^ \^\^ — ■^\l ^-^lA 
 
1 
 
 ^'^T'BP^M . 
 
 *! 
 
 
 ^^8k^ 
 
 ^^^EL. '^^a^^MM^^Kr^O^ 'WK "^^"^Stk. , 
 
 4: |4|^ 
 
 
 P^^^^^^H^^H 
 
 
 
 
Aa Third 
 
 tiires and deck her dull chat with hard words which she 
 dorCt 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 repre- 
 
 A hend anything in this world, it is the use of my oracular 
 
 \\ tongue, and a nice derangement of epitaphs! 
 
 » \ Abs. He deserves to be hanged and quartered ! let me 
 
 see — \Reads^ same ridiculous vanity — 
 
 Mrs, Mai. You need not read it again, sir. 
 Abs. I beg pardon, ma'am. — \Reads.'\ does also lay 
 her open to the grossest deceptions from flattery and pre- 
 tended admiration — an impudent coxcomb! — so that I 
 have a scheme to see you shortly with the old harridan s 
 consent^ and even to make her a go-between in our inter- 
 view. — Was ever such assurance! 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Did you ever hear anything like it? — 
 he'll elude my vigilance, will he? — yes, yes! ha! ha! 
 he's very likely to enter these doors; — we'll try who 
 can plot best! 
 
 Abs. So we will, ma'am — so we will! Ha! ha! ha! 
 a conceited puppy, ha! ha! ha! — Well, but Mrs. Mal- 
 aprop, as the girl seems so infatuated by this fellow, 
 suppose you were to wink at her corresponding with 
 him for a little time — let her even plot an elopement 
 with him — then do you connive at her escape — while 
 I, just in the nick, will have the fellow laid by the heels, 
 and fairly contrive to carry her off in his stead. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. I am delighted with the scheme; never 
 was anything better perpetrated! 
 [6i ] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 Abs. But, pray, could not I see the lady for a few 
 minutes now? — I should Hlce to try her temper a little. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Why, I don't know — I doubt she is not 
 prepared for a visit of this kind. There is a decorum in 
 these matters. 
 
 Abs. O Lord! she won't mind me — only tell her 
 Beverley — 
 
 Mrs. Mai Sir! 
 
 Abs. Gently, good tongue. \_Aside 
 
 Mrs. Mai. What did you say of Beverley ? 
 
 Ahs. Oh, I was going to propose that you should 
 tell her, by way of jest, that it was Beverley who was 
 below ; sheM come down fast enough then — ha ! ha! ha! 
 
 Mrs. Mai. 'T would 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 
 vigilance; yes, yes; ha! ha! ha! [Exit 
 
 [62] 
 
Ad Third 
 
 Jbs. Ha! ha! ha! one would think now that I might 
 throw off all disguise at once, and seize my prize with 
 security ; but such is Lydia's caprice, that to undeceive 
 were probably to lose her. I '11 see whether she knows 
 me. 
 
 [ Walks asidcy and seems engaged in looking at the 
 piSlures 
 
 Enter Lydia 
 
 Lyd, What a scene am I now to go through! surely 
 nothing can be more dreadful than to be obliged to lis- 
 ten 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 gener- 
 osity of his rival ; suppose I were to try it — there stands 
 the hated rival — an officer too! — but oh, how unlike 
 my Beverley! I wonder he don't begin — truly he seems 
 a very negligent wooer! — quite at his ease, upon my 
 word! — I'll speak first — Mr. Absolute. 
 
 Abs. Ma'am. [Turns round 
 
 Lyd. O heavens! Beverley! 
 
 Jbs. Hush! — hush, my life! softly! be not surprised! 
 
 Lyd. I am so astonished ! and so terrified ! and so over- 
 joyed! for Heaven's sake! how came you here? 
 
 Abs. Briefly, I have deceived your aunt — I was in- 
 formed that my new rival was to visit here this evening, 
 and, contriving to have him kept away, have passed my- 
 self on her for Captain Absolute. 
 
 Lyd. Oh, charming ! And she really takes you for young 
 Absolute ? 
 
 Abs, Oh, she's convinced of it. 
 
 [63 ] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 Lyd. Ha! ha! ha! I can't forbear laughing to think 
 how her sagacity is overreached! 
 
 Jbs. 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 persecu- 
 tion, and with a licensed warmth plead for my reward. 
 
 Lyd. Will you, then, Beverley, consent to forfeit that 
 portion of my paltry wealth ? that burden on the wings 
 of love ? 
 
 Abs. Oh, come to me — rich only thus — in loveli- 
 ness! Bring no portion to me but thy love — 'twill be 
 generous in you, Lydia — for well you know, it is the 
 only dower your poor Beverley can repay. 
 
 Lyd, How persuasive are his words! — how charming 
 will poverty be with him! [Aside 
 
 Abs, Ah! my soul, what a life will we then live! love 
 shall be our idol and support! we will worship him with 
 a monastic stridlness; abjuring all worldly toys, to cen- 
 tre every thought and a6lion there. Proud of calamity, 
 we will enjoy the wreck of wealth ; while the surround- 
 ing 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 en- 
 joy the scene where I might clasp my Lydia to my bo- 
 som, and say, the world affords no smile to me but 
 here. — [Embracing her.'\ If she holds out now, the devil 
 is in it! [Aside 
 
 Lyd. Now could I fly with him to the antipodes! but 
 my persecution is not yet come to a crisis. [Aside 
 
 [ 64] 
 
Ad Third 
 
 Reenter Mrs. Malaprop, listening 
 
 Mrs. Mai. I am impatient to know how the little 
 hussy deports herself. \_Astde 
 
 Abs. So pensive, Lydia ! — is then your warmth abated ? 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Warmth abated! — so! — she has been in 
 a passion, I suppose. \Aside 
 
 Lyd. No — nor ever can while I have life. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. An ill-tempered little devil! she'll be in a 
 passion all her life — will she? \^Aside 
 
 Lyd. Think not the idle threats of my ridiculous aunt 
 can ever have any weight with me. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Very dutiful, upon my word ! [Aside 
 
 Lyd. Let her choice be Captain Absolute, but Bev- 
 erley is mine. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. I am astonished at her assurance! — to his 
 face — this is to his face! [Aside 
 
 Abs. Thus then let me enforce my suit. [Kneeling 
 
 Mrs. Mai. [Aside. '\ Ay, poor young man! — down on 
 his knees entreating for pity ! — I can contain no longer. — 
 [Coming forward.^ Why, thou vixen! I have overheard 
 you. 
 
 Abs. Oh, confound her vigilance! [Aside 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Captain Absolute, I know not how to 
 apologize for her shocking rudeness. 
 
 Abs. [Aside.'] So — all's safe, I find. — [Aloud.'] I have 
 hopes, madam, that time will bring the young lady — 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Oh, there's nothing to be hoped for from 
 her ! she 's as headstrong as an allegory on the banks of 
 the Nile. 
 
 [ 65 ] 
 
The R 
 
 ivals 
 
 Lyd. Nay, madam, what do you charge me with now ? 
 
 Mrs, MaL Why, thou unblushing rebel — didn't you 
 tell this gentleman to his face that you loved another 
 better? — didn't you say you never would be his? 
 
 Lyd. No, madam — I did not. 
 
 Mrs, Mai. Good heavens! what assurance! — Lydia, 
 Lydia, you ought to know that lying don't become a 
 young woman! — Didn't you boast that Beverley, that 
 stroller Beverley, possessed your heart? — Tell me that, 
 I say. 
 
 Lyd. 'Tis true, ma'am, and none but Beverley — 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Hold! hold, Assurance! — you shall not 
 be so rude. 
 
 Ahs. 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. 
 
 Ahs. I shall, ma'am. 
 
 Mrs, Mai, Come, take a graceful leave of the gentle- 
 man. 
 
 Lyd. May every blessing wait on my Beverley, my 
 loved Bev — 
 
 Mrs. Mai Hussy ! I '11 choke the word in your throat ! — 
 come along — come along. 
 
 \_Exeunt severally. Captain Absolute kissing hishand 
 to Lydia — Mrs. Malaprop stopping her from 
 speaking 
 
 [ 66] 
 
JKjT"^. 
 
 H'#s:^lv^^^ 
 
 m 
 
 0m 
 
 .■>*' 
 
 '* Come along ! come 
 
"\'^'S\i'/»^ •iW^^ -^"^^^ 
 
\ Ad Third 
 
 Scene IV : Acres's Lodgings 
 Acres, as just dressed^ and David 
 Acres. Indeed, David — do you think I become it so? 
 
 Dav. You are quite another creature, believe me, 
 master, by the mass! an' vi^e Ve any luck we shall see 
 the Devon monkerony in all the print-shops in Bath ! 
 
 Ares. Dress does make a difference, David. 
 
 Dav, 'Tis all in all, I think. — Difference! why, an' 
 you were to go now to Clod-Hall, I am certain the old 
 lady would n't know you : Master Butler would n't be- 
 lieve his own eyes, and Mrs. Pickle would cry, 'Lard 
 presarve me!' our dairy-maid would come giggling to 
 the door, and I warrant Dolly Tester, your honour's 
 favourite, would blush like my waistcoat. — Oons! I'll 
 hold a gallon, there an't a dog in the house but would 
 bark, and I question whether Phillis would wag a hair 
 of her tail! 
 
 Acres. Ay, David, there's nothing like polishing. 
 
 Dav. So I says of your honour's boots ; but the boy 
 never heeds me! 
 
 Acres. But, David, has Mr. De-la-grace been here ? I 
 must rub up my balancing, and chasing, and boring. 
 
 Dav. I '11 call again, sir. 
 
 Acres. Do — and see if there are any letters for me at 
 the post-office. 
 
 Dav. I will. — By the mass, I can't help looking at 
 your head! — if I had n't been by at the cooking, I wish 
 I may die if I should have known the dish again my- 
 self! [Exit 
 [67 ] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 Acres. \Comes forward^praSiisinga dancing step."] Sink, 
 slide — coupee. — Confound the first inventors of cotil- 
 lons! say I — they are as bad as algebra to us country 
 gentlemen — I can walk a minuet easy enough when I 
 am forced ! — and I have been accounted a good stick 
 in a country-dance. — Odds jigs and tabours! I never val- 
 ued your cross-over to couple — figure in — right and 
 left — and I 'd foot it with e'er a captain in the country! 
 — but these outlandish heathen allemandes and cotillons 
 are quite beyond me! — I shall never prosper at 'em, 
 that's sure — mine are true-born English legs — they 
 don't understand their curst French lingo! — their pas 
 this, and pas that, and pas t'other — damn me! my feet 
 don't like to be called paws! no 't is certain I have most 
 Antigallican toes! 
 
 Enter Servant 
 Serv. Here is Sir Lucius O'Trigger to wait on you, sir. 
 Acres. Show him in ! [Exit Servant 
 
 Enter Sir Lucius O'Trigger 
 
 Sir Luc. 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-lan tern, 
 and find myself in a quagmire at last. — In short, I have 
 been very ill used, Sir Lucius. — I don't choose to men- 
 tion names, but look on me as on a very ill-used gentle- 
 man. 
 
 Sir Luc. Pray what is the case? I ask no names. 
 
 [68 ] 
 
mmM 
 
 '^0 
 
 
 * 
 
 M/;^^ tfr/ true-horn Efiglish legs 
 
'r-^"^\ ^u\^«'S \v\Q^--iVi-^\ ^■xu "iw^M »» 
 
1 
 
 
 _ 
 
 
 N 
 
 
 ^s 
 
 
 
 k'> 
 
 1 ^ 
 
 ■ ¥ 
 
 0^^mj 
 
 
 iTriii^ 
 
 ki 
 
 v.-'X 
 
 f-«t^„i™™-,r- 
 
Aa Third 
 
 Jcres. 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 dis- 
 posed of. — This, Sir Lucius, I call being ill used. 
 
 Sir Luc. Very ill, upon my conscience. — Pray, can 
 you divine the cause of it ? 
 
 Acres. Why, there's the matter ;she has another lover, 
 one Beverley, who, I am told, is now in Bath. — Odds 
 slanders and lies! he must be at the bottom of it. 
 
 Sir Luc. A rival in the case, is there ? — and you think 
 he has supplanted you unfairly ? 
 
 Acres. Unfairly! to be sure he has. He never could 
 have done it fairly. 
 
 Sir Luc. Then sure you know what is to be done! 
 
 Acres. Not I, upon my soul! 
 
 Sir Luc. We wear no swords here, but you under- 
 stand me. 
 
 Acres. What! fight him! 
 
 Sir Luc. Ay, to be sure : what can I mean else ? 
 
 Acres. But he has given me no provocation. 
 
 Sir Luc. Now, I think he has given you the greatest 
 provocation in the world. Can a man commit a more 
 heinous offence against another than to fall in love with 
 the same woman ? Oh, by !my soul! it is the most un- 
 pardonable breach of friendship. 
 
 Acres. Breach of friendship! Ay, ay; but I have no ac- 
 quaintance with this man. I never saw him in my life. 
 
 Sir Luc. That's no argument at all — he has the less 
 right then to take such a liberty. 
 
 [ 69 ] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 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 notknovi^ 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. 
 
 Jcres. 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 direftly. 
 
 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! — For though the 
 mansion-house and dirty acres have slipped through my 
 fingers, I thank Heaven our honour and the family pic- 
 tures are as fresh as ever. 
 
 Jcres. O Sir Lucius! I have had ancestors too! — 
 every man of 'em colonel or captain in the militia! — 
 Odds balls and barrels! — say no more — I'm braced for 
 it. The thunder of your words has soured the milk of 
 human kindness in my breast; — Zounds! as the man 
 in the play says, '/ could do such deeds f — 
 
 Sir Luc. Come, come, there must be no passion at all 
 
 in the case — these things should always be done civilly. 
 
 Acres. I must be in a passion, Sir Lucius — I must be 
 
 [ 70] 
 
Ad Third 
 
 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 in- 
 dite! — How shall I begin ? Odds bullets and blades! PU 
 write a good bold hand, however. 
 
 Sir Luc. Pray compose yourself. 
 
 Jcres. Come — now, shall I begin with an oath? Do, 
 Sir Lucius, let me begin with a damme. 
 
 Sir Luc. Pho! pho! do the thing decently, and like a 
 Christian. Begin now — Sir — 
 
 Acres. That'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 expeSf the honour of your company — 
 
 Acres. Zounds! I 'm not asking him to dinner. 
 
 Sir Luc. Pray be easy. 
 
 Acres. Well then, honour of your company — 
 
 Sir Luc. To settle our pretensions — 
 
 Acres. Well. 
 
 Sir Luc. Let me see ; ay King's- Mead-Fields will do 
 — in Kin^ s- Mead-Fields. 
 
 Acres. So, that's done — Well, I '11 fold it up presently; 
 my own crest — a hand and dagger shall be the seal. 
 
 Sir Luc. You see now this little explanation will put 
 a stop at once to all confusion or misunderstanding that 
 might arise between you. 
 
 Acres. Ay, we fight to prevent any misunderstanding. 
 
 f 71 ] 
 
^' 
 
 The Rivals 
 
 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. 
 ^;;r^ ^f^-^^res. Very true. 
 \^*-" Sir Luc. So I shall see nothing more of you, unless it 
 
 be by letter, till the evening. — I would do myself the 
 honour to carry your message ; but, to tell you a secret, 
 I believe I shall have just such another affair on my own 
 hands. There is a gay captain here, who put a jest on 
 me lately at the expense of my country, and I only want 
 to fall in with the gentleman to call him out. 
 
 Jcres. 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 instrufting 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 
 
 [ 72 ] 
 
\ 
 
 I shall expect the honour of your company 
 
:c) tali 
 
 .'\WQ-i •^Vl«^(\; x^ftWQ.^^^^ ^^"i<\x'i \Wy'. \ 
 
Aa IV 
 
 Scene I : Acres's Lodgings 
 
 Acres and David 
 
 DAF. Then, by the mass, sir! I would do no such 
 thing — ne'er a Sir Lucius O'Trigger in the king- 
 dom should make me fight, when I waVt so minded. 
 Oons! what will the old lady say when she hears o't ? 
 
 Jcres. Ah! David, if you had heard Sir Lucius! — Odds 
 sparks and flames! he would have roused your valour. 
 
 Dav. Not he, indeed. I hates such bloodthirsty cor- 
 morants. Look'ee, master, if you'd wanted a bout at 
 boxing, quarter-staff, or short-staff, I should never be the 
 man to bid you cry off: but for your curst sharps and 
 snaps, I never knew any good come of 'em. 
 
 Acres, But my honour, David, my honour! I must 
 be very careful of my honour. 
 
 Dav. Ay, by the mass! and I would be very careful 
 of it ; and I think in return my honour could n't do less 
 then be very careful of me. 
 
 Acres. Odds blades! David, no gentleman will ever 
 risk the loss of his honour! 
 
 Dav, I say then, it would be but civil in honour never 
 to risk the loss of a gentleman. — Look'ee, master, this 
 honour seems to me to be a marvellous false friend : ay, 
 truly, a very courtier-like servant. — Put the case, I was 
 a gentleman (which, thank God, no one can say of me) ; 
 well — my honour makes me quarrel with another gen- 
 
 [ 73 ] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 tleman of my acquaintance. — So — we fight. (Pleasant 
 enough that!) Boh! — I kill him — (the more's my luck). 
 Now, pray who gets the profit of it ? — Why, my honour. 
 But put the case that he kills me! — by the mass! I go to 
 the worms, and my honour whips over to my enemy,, 
 
 Jcres. No, David — in that case! — Odds crowns and 
 laurels! your honour follows you to the grave. 
 
 Dav. Now that's just the place where I could make 
 a shift to do without it. 
 
 Acres. Zoundsi David, you are a coward ! — It does n't 
 become my valour to listen to you. — What, shall I dis- 
 grace my ancestors? — Think of that, David — think 
 what it would be to disgrace my ancestors! 
 
 Dav. Under favour, the surest way of not disgracing 
 them is to keep as long as you can out of their com-- 
 pany. Look'ee now, master, to go to them in such haste 
 — with an ounce of lead in your brains — I should think 
 might as well be let alone. Our ancestors are very good 
 kind of folks ; but they are the last people I should choose 
 to have a visiting acquaintance with. 
 
 Jcres. 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! 
 
 Dav. By the mass, I think 'tis ten to one against 
 you! — Oons! here to meet some lion-headed fellow, I 
 warrant, with his damned double-barrelled swords, and 
 cut-and-thrust pistols! — Lord bless us! it makes me 
 tremble to think o 't ! ■ — Those be such desperate bloody- 
 minded weapons! Well, I never could abide 'em — from 
 a child I never could fancy 'em! — I suppose there an't 
 
 [ 74] 
 
" Our ancestors are the last people I should choose to 
 have a visiting acquaintance with ' ' 
 
that's 
 
 ;e my ancc 
 -"^est way ( 
 u can o 
 
 y iifood 
 
 i.V"? Si ^»5V\^ 
 
Ad Fourth 
 
 been so merciless a beast in the world as your loaded 
 pistol ! 
 
 Acres. Zounds! I wont be afraid! Odds fire and fury! 
 you shan't make me afraid. — Here is the challenge, and 
 I have sent for my dear friend Jack Absolute to carry it 
 for me. 
 
 Dav, Ay, i' the name of mischief, let him be the mes- 
 senger. — For my part, I wouldn't lend a hand to it for 
 the best horse in your stable. By the mass ! it don't look 
 like another letter! It is, as I may say, a designing and 
 malicious-looking letter ; — and I warrant smells of gun- 
 powder like a soldier's pouch ! — Oons ! I would n't swear 
 it mayn't go oiF! 
 
 Acres, Out, you poltroon! you ha'n't the valour of a 
 grasshopper. 
 
 Dav. Well, I say no more — 'twill be sad news, to 
 be sure, at Clod-Hall! but I ha' done. — How Phillis will 
 howl when she hears of it! — 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 
 bor n . [ fVh impering 
 
 Acres. It won't do, David — I am determined to fight 
 — so get along, you coward, while I'm in the mind. 
 
 Enter Servant 
 Serv. Captain Absolute, sir. 
 
 Acres, Oh! show him up. [Exit Servant 
 
 Dav. Well, Heaven send we be all alive this time 
 to-morrow. 
 
 [75] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 Jcrcs. What's that? — Don't provoke me, David! 
 Dav. Good-by, master. [Whimpering 
 
 Acres. Get along, you cowardly, dastardly, croaking 
 raven! \^Exit David 
 
 Enter Captain Absolute 
 
 Ahs, What's the matter, Bob? 
 
 Acres. A vile, sheep-hearted blockhead! — If I had n't 
 the valour of St. George and the dragon to boot — 
 
 Abs. But what did you want with me. Bob? 
 
 Acres. Oh! — there — \Gives him the challenge 
 
 Ahs. [Aside^ To Ensign Beverley. — So, what's going 
 on now? — [y//ow^.] Well, what's this? 
 
 Acres. A challenge! 
 
 Abs. Indeed! Why, you won't fight him; will you, 
 Bob? 
 
 Acres. Egad, but I will. Jack. Sir Lucius has wrought 
 me to it. He has left me full of rage — and I'll fight 
 this evening, that so much good passion mayn't be 
 wasted. 
 
 Ahs. 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. 
 
 Ahs. 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. 
 
 Ahs, 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 
 
 [76] 
 
Ad Fourth 
 
 friend ! — You could n't be my second, could you, Jack ? 
 
 Jbs. 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. 
 
 Reenter Servant 
 
 Serv. Sir Anthony Absolute is below, inquiring for 
 the captain. 
 
 Abs.VW come instantly. — [Exit Servant.] Well, 
 my little hero, success attend you. [Going 
 
 Acres, Stay — stay. Jack. — If Beverley should ask you 
 what kind of a man your friend Acres is, do tell him I 
 am a devil of a fellow — will you. Jack? 
 
 Abs, To be sure I shall. I '11 say you are a determined 
 dog — hey. Bob! 
 
 Acres, 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 ? 
 
 Abs, I will, I will; I'll say you are called in the 
 country Fighting Bob, 
 
 Acres. Right — right — 't is all to prevent mischief; for 
 I don't want to take his life if I clear my honour. 
 
 Abs. No ! that 's very kind of you. 
 
 Acres, Why, you don't wish me to kill him — do you. 
 Jack ? 
 
 Abs. No, upon my soul, I do not. — But a devil of a 
 fellow, hey? [Going 
 
 Acres. True, true — but stay — stay. Jack — you may 
 
 [77] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 add that you never saw me in such a rage before — a 
 most devouring rage ! 
 
 Jbs. I will, I will. 
 
 Jcres, Remember, Jack — a determined dog! 
 
 Abs, Ay, ay, Fighting Bob! [Exeunt severally 
 
 Scene II : Mrs, Malaprop's Lodgings 
 
 Mrs. Malaprop and Lydia ^.^■' ^-*4-^ ^ 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Why, thou perverse one! — tell me what 
 you can obje6l to him? Isn't he a handsome man? — 
 tell me that. A genteel man ? a pretty figure of a man ? 
 L-Lyd. [Jside.] She little thinks whom she is praising! 
 — [Jloud.'j So is Beverley, ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. No caparisons, miss, if you please. Capari- 
 sons don't become a young woman. No! Captain Ab- 
 solute is indeed a fine gentleman! "^^r:^ 
 
 Lyd. Ay, the Captain Absolute you have seen. [Aside 
 /!2iKvf . Mrs. MaL Then he's so well bred; — so full of ala- 
 crity, and adulation! and has so much to say for himself: 
 — in such good language too! — His physiognomy so 
 grammatical! — then his presence is so noble! — I pro- 
 test, when I saw him, I thought of what Hamlet says in 
 the play : — "Hesperian curls — the front of Job himself ! 
 — an eye, Hke March, to threaten at command! — A 
 station, like Harry Mercury, new — " Something about 
 kissing — on a hill — however, the similitude struck me 
 diredlly. 
 
 ■ [78] 
 
Ad Fourth 
 
 •^ Lyd. How enraged she'll be presently, when she dis- 
 covers her mistake! \Aside 
 Enter Servant (O. 
 Serv, Sir Anthony and Captain Absolute are below, 
 ma'am. 
 /^ Mrs. Mai. Show them up here. — [Exit Servant.] C 
 :. i^ptlX*- Now, Lydia, I insist on your behaving as becomes a 
 young woman. Show your good breeding, at least, though 
 you have forgot your duty. 
 A..^ Lyd, Madam, I have told you my resolution! — I 
 shall not only give him no encouragement^ but I wgn't 
 
 even speak to or look at him. ^ ;<■ /^■^"' ^ '' 
 
 [^Flings herself into a chair ^ with her face from the door 
 
 Enter Sir Anthony Absolute and Captain (^ 
 'r , Absolute / .,{ , / <^.; 
 
 Sir Jnth. Here we are, Mrs. Malaprop; come to { 
 mitigate the frowns of unrelenting beauty, — and diffi- 
 culty enough I had to bring this fellow. — I don't know 
 what's the matter; but if I had not held him by force, 
 he'd have given me the slip. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. You have infinite trouble. Sir Anthony, 
 in the affair. I am ashamed for the cause! — \^Aside to 
 Lydia.] Lydia, Lydia, rise, I beseech you! — pay your 
 respeds! 0fi^ j^ U^^f^ ^ /{ 
 ^ Sir Jnth. I hope, madam, that Miss Languish has 
 refle6ted on the worth of this gentleman, and the regard 
 due to her aunt's choice and my alliance. — [Aside to ^ 
 Captain Absolute.] Now, Jack, speak to her. 
 ^- • Abs. [Aside.'] What the devil shall I do [ — [Aside to 
 Sir Anthony.] You see, sir, she won\ even look at 
 
 [79] 
 
The Rivals O 
 
 me whilst you are here. — I knew she would n't ! — I told 
 you so. — Let me entreat you, sir, to leave us together! 
 
 [See^ns to expostulate with his father i^ 
 Lyd. [Aside.] I wonder I ha'n't heard my aunt ex- 
 claim yet! sure she can't have looked at him ! — perhaps 
 their regimentals are alike, and she is something blind. 
 ; f X-5/r Jnth, I say, sir, I won't stir a foot yet! 
 
 Mrs. Mai. I am sorry to say. Sir Anthony, that my 
 affluence over my niece is very small. — [Aside to Ly- 
 ^DiA.] Turn round, Lydia : I blush for you! 
 /p.^i/^ Sir Anth, May I not flatter myself that Miss Lan- 
 ,L. (i guish will assign what cause of dislike she can have to ^j^ J 
 r\ir>^ p ^y sQn! — [Aside to Captain Absolute.] Why don't; '' 
 
 I'^v^ you begin, Jack? — Speak, you puppy — speak. 
 
 C Mrs. Mai. It is impossible. Sir Anthony, she can ^ y t^ 
 have any. She will not say she has. — [Aside to Lydia.] * 
 
 Answer, hussy! why don't you answer? 
 
 Sir Anth. Then, madam, I trust that a childish and 
 hasty predilection will be no bar to Jack's happiness. — 
 [Aside to Captain Absolute.] — Zounds! sirrah! why 
 don't you speak ! ' ^ ^ . ^iAa^'^ ' 
 
 ^^ Lyd. [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 ! — [ Attempts to speak;, 
 then returns to Sir Anthony.] Faith ! sir, I am so con- 
 founded! — and — so — so — confused! — I told you I 
 should be so, sir — I knew it. — The — the — tremor of 
 my passion entirely takes away my presence of mind. 
 Sir Anth. But it don't take away your voice, fool, 
 
 [ 80] 
 
A<a Fourth 
 
 does it? — Go up, and speak to her diredlly! 
 
 [Captain Absolute makes signs to Mrs. Mala- 
 PROP to leave them together 
 Q Mrs. Mai. Sir Anthony, shall we leave them to- 
 gether? — [Aside to Lydia.] Ah! you stubborn little 
 vixen! ' A'- " ' • 
 
 Ifhylxji^.' Sir Jnth. Not yet, ma'am, not yet! — [Aside to Cap- 
 XiUHain Absolute.] What the devil are you at? unlock 
 your jaws, sirrah, or — 
 
 L Ahs. [Aside.'] Now Heaven send she may be too sul- 
 len to look round! — I must disguise my voice. — 
 [Draws near Lydia, and speaks in a low hoarse tone.] 
 Will not Miss Languish lend an ear to the mild accents 
 of true love? Will not — 
 
 Sir A nth. What the devil ails the fellow ? Why don't 
 you speak out? — not stand croaking like a frog in a 
 quinsy! 
 (f^..Ajbx^\ ^bs. The — the — excess of my awe, and my — my 
 ^ ■ — my modesty, quite choke me! A^.- ' l-^- 
 
 Sir Anth. Ah! your modesty again! — I'll tell you 
 what. Jack ; if you don't speak out diredtly, and glibly 
 too, I shall be in such a rage! — Mrs. Malaprop, I wish 
 t'he lady would favour us with something more than a 
 sjde-front. \^Mrs. Malaprop stems to chide Lydia 
 
 ^" Abs. [Aside.] So all will out, I seel/— [Goes up /^ Lydia, 
 speaks softly.] Be not surprised, my Lydia, suppress all 
 surprise at present. 
 
 Lyd. [Aside.] Heavens! 'tis Beverley's voice! Sure he 
 
 -can't have imposed on Sir Anthony too! — [Looks round 
 
 by degrees^ then starts up.] Is this possible! — my Bever- 
 
 [ 8i ] 
 
 ■■' i_ i- 
 
t^ 
 
 The Rivals 
 
 ^M/^ ley! — how can this be? — my Beverley? 
 ^^•JUh-^'^ / ■^bs. Ah! 'tis all over. [Aside 
 
 ^ Sir Jnth. Beyerley [ — the devil — Beverley! — What 
 can the girl mean ? — This is my son, Jack Absolute. 
 (yyv^-^1 ' 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 dire6lly. 
 /?, Lyd, I see no Captain Absolute, but my loved Bev- 
 erley ! ^ ^■^■^-. 
 
 Sir Anth. Zounds! the girl's mad! — her brain's, 
 turned by reading. Ojv^-^ : r,,., . / ^.r.'"t / -ii-^-^- 
 
 C Mrs. Mai. O' my conscience, I believe so! — What 
 do you mean by Beverley, hussy? — You saw Captain 
 Absolute before to-day; there he is — your husband that 
 shall be. 
 
 Lyd. With all my soul, ma'am — when I refuse my 
 Beverley — /Lm.. 
 /_ Sir Anth. Oh! she's as mad as Bedlam! — or has this 
 
 fellow been playing us a rogue's trick! — Come here, 
 sirrah ; who the devil are you ? 
 ^ t. Ahs. Faith, sir, I am not quite clear myself j but I'll 
 endeavour to recolleft. ^, 
 
 Sir Anth. Are you my son or not? — answer foryour 
 mother, you dog, if you won't for me. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Ay, sir, who are you ? Oh, mercy ! I be- 
 gin to susped ! — ^' * yv-i# n fii^f-f^^'SK fi $^ 
 
 Ahs. [Aside.'\ Ye powers of Impudence, befriend me! 
 — [Aloud.] Sir An-thony, most assuredly I am your wife's 
 son J aniLthat I sincerely believe myself to be yours also, 
 
 
 [82] 
 
f^^u^i. 
 
 Ad Fourth 
 
 I hope my duty has always shown. — Mrs. Malaprop, 
 I am your most respectful admirer, and shall be proud 
 to add affeftionate 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 station, which has proved a test of the most disin- 
 terested love, which he now hopes to enjoy in a more 
 elevated charafter. 
 
 Lyd, So ! — there will be no elopement after all ! \ ^ - - AjC^ft 
 
 [Sullenly 
 
 Sir Anth. Upon my soul. Jack, thpu art a very im- 
 pudent fellow ! to do you justice, I think I never saw a 
 piece of more consummate assurance ! 
 
 Abs. Oh, you flatter me, sir — you compliment — 'tis 
 my modesty^ you know, sir — my modesty^ that has stood 
 in my way. 
 
 Sir Anth. Well, I am glad you are not the dull, in- 
 sensible 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 />^«/7^«c^, your duty and obedience! 
 — I thought it was damned sudden ! — Tou never heard 
 their names before^ not you! — what^ the Languishes of 
 Worcestershire, hey ? — if you could please me in the affair 
 it was all you desired! — Ah ! you dissembling villain ! — 
 What ! — [Pointing to Lydia.] she squints.^ dont she? — a 
 little red-haired girl! — htj}— Why, you hypocritical 
 young rascal! — I wonder you an't ashamed to hold up 
 your head ! 
 
 Abs. 'Tis with difficulty, sir. — I am confused- 
 very much confused, as you must perceive. 
 
 [ 83 ] ^ 
 
The Rivals 
 
 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 ^^w 
 for the elegant compilation of an old weather-beaten she- 
 dragon — hey! — Oh, mercy! — was it j;(?« that reflefted / 
 on my parts of speech? ^ v ^tv ■ -y.'^ 
 
 /.iji'-, 1^ i Ahs. Dear sir! my modesty will be overpowered at 
 last, if you don't assist me — I shall certainly not be 
 able to stand it! /-^A.-' L- 
 -y^H V 5/r Anth. Come, come, Mrs. Malaprop, we must 
 ^ forget and forgive; — odds life! matters have taken so 
 clever a turn all of a sudden, that I could find in my 
 heart to be so good-humoured! and so gallant! hey! 
 Mrs. Malaprop! 
 /3 C Mrs, Mai. Well, Sir Anthony, since you desire it, we 
 will not anticipate the past! — so mind, young people 
 — our retrospedlion will be all to the future. 
 
 iS/V Anth. Come, we must leave them together; Mrs. 
 Malaprop, they long to fly into each other's arms, I 
 warrant! — Jack — isn't the cheek as I said, hey? — and 
 the eye, you rogue! — and the lip — hey? Come, Mrs. 
 Malaprop, we'll not disturb their tenderness — theirs is 
 the time of life for happiness! — Youth'' s the season made for 
 joy — \^S'ings.'\ — 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.] \^ings.'\ Tol-de- 
 rol — 'gad, I should like to have a little fooling myself 
 — Tol-de-rol! de-rol. * ^^V \*^ 
 
 [Exit, singing and handing Mrs. Malaprop. — 
 Lydia sits sullenly in her chair 
 
 [84] 
 
Aa Fourth 
 
 /-frt^A. , L Ji^^ [Jside.] So much thought bodes me no good. — 
 [J loud.] So grave, Lydia! 
 ^'- Lyd.Sivl 
 
 . Jbs. [Aside.'] So! — egad! I thought as much! — that 
 
 damned monosyllable has froze me! — [Aloud.'] What, 
 
 Lydia, now that we are as happy fn our friends' consent, 
 
 as in our mutual vows — 
 
 f' '< Lyd, Friends^ consent indeed ! [Peevishly 
 
 ^)^;-ft^tt iU-^. ^bs. Come, come, we must lay aside some of our 
 
 / romance — a little wealth and comfort may be endured 
 
 after all. And for your fortune, the lawyers shall make 
 
 such settlements as — 
 
 Lyd. Lawyers! I hate lawyers! 
 (1^^^,^^ Abs. Nay, then, we will not wait for their lingering 
 (^A^Hw-,, forms, but instantly procure the licence, and — 
 "- . Lyd. The licence! — I hate licence! 
 
 Abs. Oh, my love! be not so unkind! — thus let me 
 entreat— [Kneeling 
 
 Lyd. Psha! — what signifies kneeling, when you know 
 I must have you ? 
 
 Abs. [Rising.] Nay, madam, there shall be no con- 
 straint upon your inclinations, I promise you. — If I 
 have lost your heart — I resign the rest — [Aside.] 'Gad, 
 I must try what a little spirit will do. 
 
 Lyd. [Rising.] Then, sir, let me tell you, the interest 
 you had there was acquired by a mean, unmanly im- 
 position, 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! 
 
 [ 85 ] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 Ahs, You wrong me, Lydia, you wrong me — only 
 
 Lv^. 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! — \_Walktng about in 
 a heat.'] But here, sir, is the pi6lure — Beverley's pic- 
 ture! [taking a miniature from her hosoni\ which I have 
 worn, night and day, in spite of threats and entreaties! 
 
 — There, sir, \fiings it to /;/m]"and be assured I throw 
 the original from my heart as easily. fsl'-'tMiie^ '^Pf 
 
 Jbs. Nay, nay, ma'am, we will not differ as to that. 
 f^ e^^^^^-^/^'^^i^Here, [taking out a piSiure] here is Miss Lydia Lan- 
 guish. — What a difference! — ay, there is the heavenly 
 assenting smile that first gave soul and spirit to my hopes ! 
 — those are the lips which sealed a vow, as yet scarce 
 dry in Cupid's calendar! and there the half-resentful 
 blush, that would have checked the ardour of my thanks! 
 
 — Well, all that's past! — all over indeed! — There, 
 madam — in beauty, that copy is not equal to you, but 
 in my mind its merit over the original, in being still the 
 same, is such — that — I cannot find in my heart to part 
 with it. [Puts it up again 
 
 Lyd, [Softening.] 'Tis your own doing, sir — I — I — I 
 suppose you are perfectly satisfied. 
 
 Abs. Oh, most certainly — sure, now, this is much 
 better than being in love! ha! hal ha! — there's some 
 spirit in //2/j/f— What signifies breaking some scores of 
 solemn promises: — all that's of no consequence, you 
 
 [86] 
 
 ^ 
 
3i^-a'i£^0^<:0^,^ 
 
 In beauty y that copy is not equal to you I 
 
\ V^^/ ^:A \iiVi\j:^ \<5>» U ^<\*i-i V.vf'i ,^(\\iM'ii^ S^;\ *' 
 
AS: Fourth 
 
 know. — To be sure people will say that miss don't 
 know her own mind — but never mind that! Or, per- 
 haps, they may be ill-natured enough to hint that the 
 gentleman grew tired of the lady and forsook her — 
 but don't let that fret you. ;>-»/.■ .:-. 
 Lyd. There is no bearing his insolence. 
 
 [Bursts into tears 
 
 Reenter Mrs, Malaprop and Sir Anthony 
 Absolute 
 
 Mrs. Mai. [Entering.] Come, we must interrupt your 
 billing and cooing awhile. -'li-^'^^id^^ *w 
 
 Lyd. This is worse than your treachery and deceit, 
 you base ingrate! [Sobbing 
 
 Sir Anth. What the devil's the matter now! — 
 Zounds! Mrs. Malaprop, this is the oddest billing and 
 cooing I ever heard! — but what the deuce is the mean- 
 ing of it? — I am quite astonished! 
 
 Abs. Ask the lady, sir. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Oh, mercy! — I'm quite analyzed, for my 
 part! — Why, Lydia, what is the reason of this? -' '^^ 
 
 Lyd. Ask the gentleman, ma'am. '' 
 
 ^ ^Sir Anth. Zounds! I shall be in a frenzy! — Why, 
 Jack, you are not come out to be any one else, are you ? 
 
 Mrs. MaL 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 ac- 
 count for this much better than I can. 
 
 Lyd. Ma'am, you once commanded me never to think 
 
 [87] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 of Beverley again — there is the man — I now obey you : 
 for, from this moment, I renounce liim for ever. .Lr'-^ 
 
 [Exit Lydia'J^^W' 
 
 Airs. Mai. Oh, mercy! and miracles! w^hat a turn 
 lere is — why sure, captain, you haven't behaved dis- 
 respeftfully to my niece? 
 
 Sir A nth. Ha! ha! ha! — ha! ha! ha! — now I see it. 
 Ha! ha! ha! — now I see it — you have been too lively, 
 Jack. 
 
 Jbs, Nay, sir, upon my word — 
 
 Sir Anth. Come, no lying, Jack — I'm sure 'twas so. 
 
 Mrs, Mai. O Lud! Sir Anthony! — Oh, fy, captain! 
 
 Ahs. Upon my soul, ma'am — 
 
 Sir Anth. Come, no excuses, Jack ; why, your father, 
 you rogue, was so before you: — the blood of the Abso- 
 lutes was always impatient. — Ha! ha! ha! poor little 
 Lydia! why, you've frightened her, you dog, you have. 
 
 Ahs. By all that's good, sir — 
 
 Sir Anth. Zounds! say no more, I tell you — Mrs. 
 Malaprop shall make your peace. — You must make his 
 peace, Mrs. Malaprop: — you must tell her 'tis Jack's 
 way — tell her 'tis all our ways — it runs in the blood 
 of our family! — Come away. Jack — Ha! ha! ha! Mrs. 
 Malaprop — a young villain! \Fmhes him out 
 
 Mrs, Mai. Oh! Sir Anthony! — Oh, ^y.^ captain! 
 
 [Exeunt severally 
 
 [88] 
 
Ad: Fourth 
 
 Scene III : The North Parade 
 Enter Sir Lucius O'Trigger 
 Sir Luc. I wonder where this Captain Absolute hides 
 himself! Upon my conscience! these officers are always 
 in one's way in love affairs: — I remember I might 
 have married Lady Dorothy Carmine, if it had not been 
 for a little rogue of a major, who ran away with her 
 before she could get a sight of me! And I wonder too 
 what it is the ladies can see in them to be so fond of 
 them — unless it be a touch of the old serpent in 'em, 
 that makes the little creatures be caught, like vipers, 
 with a bit of red cloth. Ha! isn't this the captain com- 
 ing? — 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. [Jside.^ To what fine purpose I have been plot- 
 ting! a noble reward for all my schemes, upon my soul! 
 — a little gypsy! — I did not think her romance could 
 have made her so damned absurd either. 'Sdeath, I 
 never was in a worse humour in my life! — I could cut 
 my own throat, or any other person's, with the great- 
 est pleasure in the world! 
 
 Sir Luc. Oh, faith! Pm 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. — [Goes 
 up to Captain Absolute.] With regard to that matter, 
 captain, I must beg leave to differ in opinion with you. 
 
 [ 89] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 Abs. Upon my word, then, you must be a very subtle 
 disputant : — because, sir, I happened just then to be giv- 
 ing no opinion at all. 
 
 Sir Luc. That's no reason. For, give me leave to tell 
 you, a man may think an untruth as w^ell as speak one. 
 
 Abs. Very true, sir; but if a man never utters his 
 thoughts, I should think they might stand a chance of 
 escaping controversy. 
 
 Sir Luc. Then, sir, you differ in opinion with me, 
 which amounts to the same thing. 
 
 Abs. Hark'ee, Sir Lucius ; if I had not before known 
 you to be a gentleman, upon my soul, I should not havel 
 discovered it at this interview : for what you can drive! 
 at, unless you mean to quarrel with me, I cannot con-' 
 ceive. 
 
 Sir Luc. I humbly thank you, sir, for the quickness 
 of your apprehension. — [Bowing.] You have named the 
 very thing I would be at. 
 
 Abs. Very well, sir; I shall certainly not balk your 
 inclinations. — But I should be glad you would please 
 to explain your motives. 
 
 M 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. 
 
 [90] 
 
Aa Fourth 
 
 Sir Luc. Faith ! that same interruption in affairs of 
 this nature shows very great ill-breeding. — I don't 
 know what's the reason, but in England, if a thing of 
 this kind gets wind, people make such a pother, that a 
 gentleman can never fight in peace and quietness. How- 
 ever, if it's the same to you, 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. 
 
 Jbs. 'Tis the same to me exa6lly. — A little after 
 six, then, we will discuss this matter more seriously. 
 
 Sir Luc. If you please, sir; there will be very pretty 
 small-sword light, though it won't do for a long shot. 
 — So that matter's settled, and my mind's at ease. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 Enter Faulkland, tneeting 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 prospedl 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 in- 
 clination would now have pointed to the same obje6l. 
 
 Abs. Ay, just as the eyes do of a person who squints : 
 when her love-eye was fixed on me, t'other, her eye of 
 duty, was finely obliqued : but when duty bid her point 
 that the same way, off^ t'other turned on a swivel, and 
 secured its retreat with a frown ! 
 
 [ 9« ] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 Faulk. But what's the resource you — 
 
 Abs. Oh, to wind up the whole, a good-natured Irish- 
 man here has — [Mimicking Sir 1^\5Q.i\js\ — 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 faft, 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 : 't is 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 dif- 
 ference I have had with Julia. My vile tormenting tem- 
 per 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^ and exit 
 Faulk. O Jack! this is from Julia. I dread to open it! 
 1 fear it may be to take a last leave! — perhaps to bid 
 me return her letters, and restore — oh, how I suffer 
 for my folly! 
 
 [92] 
 
Ad Fourth 
 
 Abs. Here, let me see. — ^Takes the letter and opens />.] 
 Ay, a final sentence, indeed! — 'tis all over with you, 
 faith! 
 
 FaulL Nay, Jack, don't keep me in suspense ! 
 
 Ahs. Hear then. — \Readsi\ As I am convinced that my 
 dear Faulkland''s own refle£iions have already upbraided him 
 for his last unk'indness to ?ne^ I will not add a word on the 
 subje£i. I wish to speak with you as soon as possible. Tours 
 ever and truly^ Julia. There's stubbornness and resent- 
 ment for you! — [^Gives him the letter.^ Why, man, you 
 don't seem one whit the happier at this! 
 
 Faulk. Oh, yes, I am: but — but — 
 
 Abs. Confound your buts ! you never hear anything 
 that would make another man bless himself, but you im- 
 mediately damn it with a but! 
 
 Faulk. Now, Jack, as you are my friend, own hon- 
 estly — don't you think there is something forward, some- 
 thing indelicate, in this haste to forgive? Women should 
 never sue for reconciliation : that should always come 
 from us. They should retain their coldness till wooed 
 to kindness ; and their pardon, like their love, should "not 
 unsought be won." 
 
 Abs. I have not patience to listen to you ! thou'rt in- 
 corrigible! so say no more on the subjedl. 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 
 
 [ 93] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 whim, who has no difficulties but of his own creating, 
 is a subje<5t more fit for ridicule than compassion! 
 
 [Exit 
 Faulk. I feel his reproaches ; yet I would not change 
 this too exquisite nicety for the gross content with which 
 he tramples on the thorns of love! — His engaging me 
 in this duel has started an idea in my head, which I will 
 instantly pursue. I '11 use it as the touchstone of Julia's 
 sincerity and disinterestedness. If her love prove pure 
 and sterling ore, my name will rest on it with honour ; 
 and once I Ve stamped it there, I lay aside my doubts 
 for ever! But if the dross of selfishness, the alloy of pride, 
 predominate, 'twill be best to leave her as a toy for some 
 less cautious fool to sigh for! [Exit 
 
 [94] 
 
Aa V 
 
 Scene I : Julia's Dressing-room 
 
 Julia discovered alone 
 
 JUL* How this message has alarmed me! what dread- 
 ful accident can he mean ? why such charge to be 
 alone? — O Faulkland! — how many unhappy moments 
 — how many tears have you cost me. 
 
 Enter Faulkland 
 
 JuL What means this? — why this caution, Faulk- 
 land? 
 
 Faulk. Alas ! Julia, I am come to take a long farewell. 
 
 yul. Heavens ! what do you mean ? 
 
 Faulk. You see before you a wretch whose life is for- 
 feited. Nay, start not! — the infirmity of my temper has 
 drawn all this misery on me. I left you fretful and pas- 
 sionate — an untoward accident drew me into a quarrel 
 — the event is, that I must fly this kingdom instantly. 
 
 Julia, had I been so fortunate as to have called you 
 mine entirely, before this mischance had fallen on me, 
 
 1 should not so deeply dread my banishment ! 
 
 yul. My soul is oppressed with sorrow at the nature 
 of your misfortune: had these adverse circumstances 
 arisen from a less fatal cause, I should have felt strong 
 comfort in the thought that I could now chase from 
 your bosom every doubt of the warm sincerity of my 
 love. My heart has long known no other guardian — 
 I now entrust my person to your honour — we will fly 
 
 [95] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 together. When safe from pursuit, my father's will may 
 be fulfilled — and I receive a legal claim to be, the part- 
 ner 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 compundlion. 
 
 Faulk. O Julia! I am bankrupt in gratitude! but the 
 time is so pressing, it calls on you for so hasty a reso- 
 lution. — Would you not wish some hours to weigh the 
 advantages you forego, and what little compensation 
 poor Faulkland can make you beside his solitary love ? 
 
 Jul. I ask not a moment. No, Faulkland, I have 
 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 
 aft of love. But let us not linger. Perhaps this delay — 
 
 Faulk, 'T will 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! 
 
 Jul. Perhaps your fortune may be forfeited by this 
 unhappy aft. — 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 abjeft state of life, my 
 wounded pride perhaps may increase the natural fretful- 
 ness of my temper, till I become a rude, morose com- 
 panion, beyond your patience to endure. Perhaps the 
 
 [96] 
 
Ad Fifth 
 
 recolleftion of a deed my conscience cannot justify may 
 haunt me in such gloomy and unsocial fits, that I shall 
 hate the tenderness that would relieve me, break from 
 your arms, and quarrel with your fondness ! 
 
 Jul. If your thoughts should assume so unhappy a 
 bent, you will the more want some mild and affection- 
 ate spirit to watch over and console you : one who, by 
 bearing 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 ef- 
 fect of my restless, unsatisfied disposition ? 
 
 Jul. Has no such disaster happened as you related ? 
 
 Faulk. I am ashamed to own that it was pretended ; 
 yet in pity, Julia, do not kill me with resenting a fault 
 which never can be repeated : but sealing, this once, my 
 pardon, let me to-morrow, in the face of Heaven, re- 
 ceive my future guide and monitress, and expiate my 
 past folly by years of tender adoration. 
 
 Jul. Hold, Faulkland ! — that you are free from a 
 crime, which I before feared to name. Heaven knows 
 how sincerely I rejoice ! These are tears of thankfulness 
 for that ! But that your cruel doubts should have urged 
 you to an imposition that has wrung my heart gives me 
 now a pang more keen than I can express ! 
 
 Faulk. By heavens ! Julia — 
 
 Jul. Yet hear me. — My father loved you, Faulkland ! 
 and you preserved the life that tender parent gave me; 
 in his presence I pledged my hand — joyfully pledged 
 
 [97 ] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 it — where before I had given my heart. When, soon 
 after, I lost that parent, it seemed to me that Providence 
 had, in Faulkland, shovv^n me whither to transfer, with- 
 out a pause, my grateful duty, as well as my affec- 
 tion : hence I have been content to bear from you what 
 pride and delicacy would have forbid me from another. 
 I will not upbraid you by repeating how you have tri- 
 fled with my sincerity — 
 
 Faulk. I confess it all! yet hear — 
 
 Jul. After such a year of trial, I might have flattered 
 myself that I should not have been insulted with a new 
 probation of my sincerity, as cruel as unnecessary! I 
 now see it is not in your nature to be content or con- 
 fident in love. With this convidlion — I never will be 
 yours. While I had hopes that my persevering atten- 
 tion and unreproaching kindness might in time reform 
 your temper, I should have been happy to have gained 
 a dearer influence over you ; but I will not furnish you 
 with a licensed power to keep alive an incorrigible fault 
 at the expense of one who never would contend with 
 you. 
 
 Faulk. Nay, but, Julia, by my soul and honour, if 
 after this — 
 
 Jul. But one word more. — As my faith has once 
 been given to you, I never will barter it with another. 
 — I shall pray for your happiness with the truest sin- 
 cerity ; and the dearest blessing I can ask of Heaven to 
 send you will be to charm you from that unhappy 
 temper which alone has prevented the performance of 
 our solemn engagement. — All I request oi you is, that 
 
 [98] 
 
Aa Fifth 
 
 you will yourself refleft 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 beg- 
 gary 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! Cursed as I am, with 
 more imperfe6lions than my fellow wretches, kind for- 
 tune 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 up- 
 on forging here. — O Love! — tormentor! — fiend! — 
 whose influence, like the moon's, a6ling on men of dull 
 souls, makes idiots of them, but, meeting subtler spirits, 
 betrays their course and urges sensibility to madness ! 
 
 {Exit 
 
 Enter Lydia and Maid 
 
 Maid. My mistress, ma'am, I know, was just here 
 now — perhaps she is only in the next room. [Exit 
 
 Lyd. Heigh-ho ! Though he has used me so, this fel- 
 low runs strangely in my head. I believe one le6ture 
 from my grave cousin will make me recall him. — [Re- 
 enter Julia.] O Julia, I am come to you with such an ap- 
 petite for consolation. — Lud! child, what's the matter 
 with you? You have been crying! — I'll be hanged if 
 that Faulkland has not been tormenting you! 
 
 Jul. You mistake the cause of my uneasiness! — 
 
 LOfC. [99] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 Something has flurried me a little. Nothing that you 
 can guess at. — [AsideJ\ I would not accuse Faulkland 
 to a sister! 
 
 Lyd, Ah! whatever vexations you may have, I can 
 assure you mine surpass them. You know who Beverley 
 proves to be ? 
 
 yul, 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 subje6t, 
 without a serious endeavour to counteract your caprice. 
 
 Lyd. So, then, I see I have been deceived by every 
 one! But I don't care — I'll never have him. 
 
 JuL Nay, Lydia — 
 
 Lyd. Why, is it not provoking ? when I thought we 
 were coming to the prettiest distress imaginable, to find 
 myself made a mere Smithfield bargain of at last! There, 
 had I projected one of the most sentimental 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! — Oh, I shall die 
 with disappointment. 
 
 yuL I don't wonder at it! 
 
 Lyd. Now — sad reverse! — what have I to expeCt, 
 but, after a deal of flimsy preparations with a bishop's 
 licence, and my aunt's blessing, to go simpering up to 
 the altar; or perhaps be cried three times in a country 
 church, and have an unmannerly fat clerk ask the con- 
 sent of every butcher in the parish to join John Abso- 
 
 [ 100 ] 
 
'-^bsnbSlixi- 
 
 How often have I stole forth, in the coldest night in 
 January ' ' 
 
w\ \W'/.\\ ■.■ .vA^-i 'i^\^ "V ^'S\A'i\':i\^x'. \ "/WAN v>^iv? ^M'in *' 
 
Ad Fifth 
 
 lute and Lydia Languish, spinster! Oh that I should 
 live to hear myself called Spinster! 
 
 Jul. Melancholy indeed! 
 
 Lyd. How mortifying, to remember the dear delicious 
 shifts I used to be put to, to gain half a minute's con- 
 versation with this fellow! — How often have I stole 
 forth, in the coldest night in January, and found him in 
 the garden, stuck like a dripping statue ! There would 
 he kneel to me in the snow, and sneeze and cough so 
 pathetically! he shivering with cold and I with appre- 
 hension! and while the freezing blast numbed our 
 joints, how warmly would he press me to pity his flame, 
 and glow with mutual ardour! — Ah, Julia, that was 
 something like being in love. 
 
 Jul. If I were in spirits, Lydia, I should chide you 
 only by laughing heartily at you; but it suits more the 
 situation of my mind, at present, earnestly to entreat 
 you not to let a man, who loves you with sincerity, suf- 
 fer that unhappiness from your caprice, which I know 
 too well caprice can inflift. 
 
 Lyd, O Lud ! what has brought my aunt here ? 
 
 Enter Mrs. Malaprop, Fag, and David 
 Mrs. Mai. So! so!^ here's fine work! — here's fine 
 suicide, parricide, and simulation, going on in the fields! 
 and Sir Anthony not to be found to prevent the anti- 
 strophe! 
 
 Jul. For Heaven's sake, madam, what's the meaning 
 of this ? 
 
 Mrs. Mai. That gentleman can tell you — 'twas he 
 enveloped the affair to me. 
 
 [ '01 ] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 Lyd. Do, sir, will you, inform us? [71? Fag 
 
 Fag, Ma'am, I should hold myself very deficient in 
 every requisite that forms the man of breeding, if I de- 
 layed a moment to give all the information in my povi^er 
 to a lady so deeply interested in the affair as you are. 
 
 Lyd, But quick! quick, sir! 
 
 Fag. True, ma'am, as you say, one should be quick 
 in divulging matters of this nature; for should we be 
 tedious, perhaps while we are flourishing on the subjeft, 
 two or three lives may be lost! 
 
 Lyd, O patience! — Do, ma'am, for Heaven's sake 
 tell us what is the matter ? 
 
 Mrs.Mal.Why^ murder's the matter! slaughter's the 
 matter! killing's the matter! — but he can tell you the 
 perpendiculars. 
 
 Lyd. Then, prithee, sir, be brief. 
 
 Fag. Why then, ma'am, as to murder — I cannot take 
 upon me to say — and as to slaughter, or manslaughter, 
 that will be as the jury finds it. 
 
 Lyd. But who, sir — who are engaged in this? 
 
 Fag. Faith, ma'am, one is a young gentleman whom 
 I should be very sorry anything was to happen to — a 
 very pretty behaved gentleman! We have lived much 
 together, and always on terms. 
 
 Lyd, But who is this ? who ? who ? who ? 
 
 Fag. My master, ma'am — my master — I speak of 
 my master. 
 
 Lyd. Heavens! What, Captain Absolute! 
 
 Mrs, Mai. Oh, to be sure, you are frightened now! 
 
 [ 102 ] 
 
Ad Fifth 
 
 Jul. But who are with him, sir ? 
 
 Fag. As to the rest, ma'am, this gentleman can in- 
 form you better than I. 
 
 Jul Do speak, friend. \ro David 
 
 Dav, Look'ee, my lady — by the mass! there's mis- 
 chief going on. Folks don't use to meet for amusement 
 with firearms, firelocks, fire-engines, fire-screens, fire- 
 office, and the devil knows what other crackers beside! 
 — This, my lady, I say, has an angry favour. 
 
 Jul But who is there beside Captain Absolute, friend ? 
 
 Dav. My poor master — under favour for 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. 
 
 Jul. Do, ma'am, let us instantly endeavour to pre- 
 vent mischief. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Oh, iy\ — it would be very inelegant in us : 
 — we should only participate things. 
 
 Dav. Ah! do, Mrs. Aunt, save a few lives — they are 
 desperately given, believe me.— Above all, there is that 
 bloodthirsty Philistine, Sir Lucius O'Trigger. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Sir Lucius O'Trigger? Oh, mercy! have 
 they drawn poor little dear Sir Lucius into the scrape ? 
 — Why, how you stand, girl! you have no more feeling 
 than one of the Derbyshire petrifactions! 
 
 Lyd. What are we to do, madam ? 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Why, fly with the utmost felicity, to be 
 sure, to prevent mischief! — Here, friend, you can show 
 us the place? 
 
 [ 103 ] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 Fag, If you please, ma'am, I will condudt you. — 
 David, do you look for Sir Anthony. \^Ex'it 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, 
 
 \Exeunt^ he talking 
 
 Scene II : The South Parade 
 
 Enter Captain Absolute, putting his sword under his 
 great coat 
 
 Ahs. A sword seen in the streets of Bath would raise 
 as great an alarm as a mad dog. — How provoking this 
 is in Faulkland! — never punctual! I shall be obliged to 
 go without him at last. — Oh, the devil! here's Sir An- 
 thony! — how shall I escape him? 
 
 [Muffles up his face^ and takes a circle to go off 
 
 Enter Sir Anthony Absolute 
 Sir Anth. How one may be deceived at a little dis- 
 tance! only that I see he don't know me, I could have 
 sworn that was Jack! — Hey! Gad's life! it is. — Why, 
 Jack, what are you afraid of? hey! — sure I'm right. 
 — Why, Jack, — Jack Absolute! [Goes up to him 
 
 Ahs. Really, sir, you have the advantage of me: — I 
 
 [ 104 ] 
 
A<a Fifth 
 
 don't remember ever to have had the honour — my 
 name is Saunderson, at your service. 
 
 Sir Anth. Sir, I beg your pardon — I took you — hey ? 
 — w^hy, zounds! it is — Stay — [Looks up to his face. '] So, 
 so — your humble servant, Mr. Saunderson! — Why, 
 you scoundrel, what tricks are you after nov^^ ? 
 
 Jbs. Oh, a joke, sir, a joke! — I came here on pur- 
 pose to look for you, sir. 
 
 Sir Anth. You did! w^ell, I am glad you were so 
 lucky : — but what are you muffled up so for? — what's 
 this for? — hey! 
 
 Abs. 'Tis cool, sir; isn't it? — rather chilly somehow 
 — but I shall be late — I have a particular engagement. 
 
 Sir Anth. Stay! — Why, I thought you were looking 
 for me? — Pray, Jack, where is't you are going? 
 
 Ahs. Going, sir! 
 
 Sir Anth. Ay, — where are you going? 
 
 Abs. Where am I going? 
 
 Sir Anth. You unmannerly puppy! 
 
 Abs. I was going, sir, to — to — to — to Lydia — sir, 
 to Lydia — to make matters up if I could; — and I was 
 looking for you, sir, to — to — 
 
 Sir Anth. To go with you, I suppose. — Well, come 
 along. 
 
 Abs. Oh! Zounds! no, sir, not for the world! — I 
 wished to meet with you, sir, — to — to — to — You find 
 it cool, I'm sure, sir — you'd better not stay out. 
 
 Sir Anth. Cool! — not at all.— Well, Jack— and 
 what will you say to Lydia ? 
 
 [ i°5] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 Ahs, Oh, sir, beg her pardon, humour her — promise 
 and vow : but I detain you, sir — consider the cold air 
 on your gout. 
 
 Sir Anth. Oh, not at all! — not at all! I'm in no 
 hurry. — Ah! Jack, you youngsters, when once you are 
 wounded here — \Puttinghis hand to Captain Absolvt'e's 
 breast.^ Hey! what the deuce have you got here ? 
 
 Abs. Nothing, sir — nothing. 
 
 Sir Anth. What's this? — here's something damned 
 hard. 
 
 Abs. Oh, trinkets, sir! trinkets! — a bauble for Lydia! 
 
 Sir Anth. Nay, let me see your taste. — [Pulls his 
 coat open^ the sword fa lh.^^v\nktts\ — a bauble for Lydia! 
 — Zounds! sirrah, you are not going to cut her throat, 
 are you? 
 
 Abs. Ha! ha! ha! — I thought it would divert you, 
 sir, though I didn't mean to tell you till afterwards. 
 
 Sir Anth. You did n't? — Yes, this is a very diverting 
 trinket, truly! 
 
 Abs. Sir, I'll explain to you. — You know, sir, Lydia 
 is romantic, devilish romantic, and very absurd of course : 
 now, 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 fiddlestick's end! — why, I sup- 
 pose 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. 
 
■A 
 
 T'ou unmannerly puppy ! ' ' 
 
your tasi 
 
 /iv/A. j'i'i'iiikcts! — a bauble tor Lyil,^ 
 
 uoi5 -Aii- nor '-'■(iina to cut h(^r thrca! 
 
 \'f. Hal ha! hai — 1 tr would divert you 
 
 , thour' ' ' '• " - , yuii till afterwards. 
 
 Si?- J , this is n x^erv diverting 
 
 rii falJ 
 
 '' V 
 
 ^<\'\NX<\ ■A-^'iWWXiW^^v. ao"t 
 
Ad Fifth 
 
 Sir Anth. O booby! stab away and welcome — says she. 
 — Get along and damn your trinkets! 
 
 [Exit Captain Absolute 
 Enter David, running 
 
 Dav, Stop him! Stop him! Murder! Thief! Fire! 
 
 — Stop fire! Stop fire! — O Sir Anthony— call! call! 
 bid 'm stop! Murder! Fire! 
 
 Sir Jnth.Firel Murder! — Where? 
 
 Dav. Oons! he's out of sight! and I'm out of breath 
 for my part! O Sir Anthony, why didn't you stop him ? 
 why didn't you stop him? 
 
 Sir Anth, Zounds! the fellow's mad! — Stop whom? 
 stop Jack ? 
 
 Dav. Ay, the captain, sir! — there's murder and 
 slaughter — 
 
 Sir Anth. Murder! 
 
 Dav. Ay, please you, Sir Anthony, there's all kinds 
 of murder, all sorts of slaughter to be seen in the fields : 
 there's fighting going on, sir — bloody sword-and-gun 
 fighting! 
 
 Sir Anth, Who are going to fight, dunce ? 
 
 Dav, Everybody that I know of. Sir Anthony: — 
 everybody is going to fight, my poor master, Sir Lucius 
 O 'Trigger, your son, the captain — 
 
 Sir Anth. Oh, the dog! — I see his tricks. — Do you 
 know the place ? 
 
 Dav. King's-Mead-Fields. 
 
 Sir Anth. You know the way ? 
 
 Dav, Not an inch; but I'll call the mayor — alder- 
 
 [ 107] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 men — constables — churchwardens — and beadles — we 
 can't be too many to part them. 
 
 Sir Jnth. Come along — give me your shoulder ! we'll 
 get assistance as we go — the lying villain — Well, I shall 
 be in such a frenzy! — So — this was the history of his 
 trinkets! I'll bauble him! [Exeunt 
 
 Scene III : King's-Mead-Fields 
 Enter Sir Lucius O'Trigger and Acres, with pistols 
 
 Acres, By my valour ! then. Sir Lucius, forty yards is 
 a good distance. Odds levels and aims! — I say it is a good 
 distance. 
 
 Sir Luc, Is it for muskets or small field-pieces? Upon 
 my conscience, Mr. Acres, you must leave those things 
 to me. — Stay now — I'll show you. — [Measures paces 
 along the stage.'] There now, that is a very pretty distance 
 — a pretty gentleman's distance. 
 
 Jcres, Zounds! we might as well fight in a sentry- 
 box ! I tell you, Sir Lucius, the farther he is ofF, the cooler 
 I shall take my aim. 
 
 Sir Luc. Faith ! then I suppose you would aim at him 
 best of all if he was out of sight! 
 
 Acres. No, Sir Lucius ; but I should think forty or 
 eight-and-thirty yards — 
 
 Sir Luc. Pho! pho! nonsense! three or four feet 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 
 
 [ i°8 1 
 
** How would you receive the gentleman^ s shot ? 
 
*> t<55^l 
 
 l'wV^W^VWW^^ 'i^t ^V5hi^-r «0I(_ \i\v50^» \»^W » ' 
 
A<a Fifth 
 
 me bring him down at a long shot: — a long shot, Sir 
 Lucius, if you love me ! 
 
 Sir Luc. Well, the gentleman's friend and I must 
 settle that. — But tell me now, Mr. Acres, in case of an 
 accident, is there any little will or commission I could 
 execute for you ? 
 
 Jcres. 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. 
 
 Jcres. 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 Ab- 
 bey ? — I'm told there is very snug lying in the Abbey. 
 
 Jcres. 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 ? 
 
 Jcres. No, Sir Lucius, never before. 
 
 Sir Luc. Ah! that's a pity — there's nothing like be- 
 ing used to a thing. — Pray now, how would you re- 
 ceive the gentleman's shot ? 
 
 Acres. Odds files! — I've practised that — there, Sir 
 Lucius — there. — [Puts Imnself 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 
 
 [109] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 so when I take my aim — [Levelling at htm 
 
 Acres. Zounds! Sir Lucius— ^ are you sure it is not 
 cocked ? 
 
 Sir Luc. Never fear. 
 
 Jcres. 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 — 't will be very hard 
 if it don't succeed on the left! 
 
 Jcres. A vital part! 
 
 Sir Luc. But, there — fix yourself so — [Placing him] 
 — let him see the broadside of your full front — there — 
 now a ball or two may pass clean through your body, 
 and never do any harm at all. 
 
 Jcres. Clean through me! — a ball or two clean 
 through me! 
 
 Sir Luc. Ay — may they — and it is much the gen- 
 teelest attitude into the bargain. 
 
 Acres. Look'ee! Sir Lucius — I'd just aslieve be shot 
 in an awkward posture as a genteel one — so, by my 
 valour! I will stand edgeways. 
 
 <S/V 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 
 
 [ "o] 
 
Aa Fifth 
 
 them come — hey, Sir Lucius! — we — we — we — we 
 — won't run. 
 
 Sir Luc. Run! 
 
 Acres. No — I say — we won't run, by my valour! 
 
 Sir Luc. What the devil's the matter with you? 
 
 Acres. Nothing — nothing — my dear friend — my 
 dear Sir Lucius — but I — I — I don't feel quite so bold, 
 somehow, as I did. 
 
 Sir Luc. Oh, ^yl — 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 al- 
 most 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. Oh, mercy! — now — that I was safe at Clod- 
 Hall ! or could be shot before I was aware ! 
 
 Enter Faulkland and Captain Absolute 
 Sir Luc. Gentlemen, your most obedient. — Hah! — 
 what. Captain Absolute! — So, I suppose, sir, you are 
 come here, just like myself — to do a kind office, first 
 for your friend — then to proceed to business on your 
 own account. 
 
 [ "' ] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 Acres. What, Jack ! — my dear Jack ! — my dear friend ! 
 
 Ahs. Hark'ee, Bob, Beverley's at hand. 
 
 iS/r Luc. Well, Mr. Acres, — I don't blame your sa- 
 luting the gentleman civilly. — \To Faulkland.] So, 
 Mr. Beverley, if you'll choose your w^eapons, the cap- 
 tain and I vv^ill 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. 
 
 5/V Luc. What, sir, did you not come here to fight 
 Mr. Acres? 
 
 Faulk. Not I, upon my word, sir. 
 
 Sir Luc. Well, now, that's mighty provoking! But I 
 hope, Mr. Faulkland, as there are three of us come on 
 purpose for the game — you won't be so cantankerous 
 as to spoil the party by sitting out. 
 
 Ahs. O pray, Faulkland, fight to oblige Sir Lucius. 
 
 Faulk. Nay, if Mr. Acres is so bent on the matter — 
 
 Acres. No, no, Mr. Faulkland; — Pll bear my dis- 
 appointment like a Christian. — Look'ee, Sir Lucius, 
 there's no occasion at all for me to fight ; and if it is the 
 same to you, I'd as lieve let it alone. 
 
 iS/V 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 gen- 
 tleman is willing to represent him — I can't see, for my 
 soul, why it isn't just the same thing. 
 
 Acres. Why no — Sir Lucius — I tell you 'tis one Bev- 
 erley I've challenged — a fellow, you see, that dare not 
 
 [ "2] 
 
•j'::'^cK:-u<xi', 
 
 IVhat, Jack ! - my dear Jack ! " 
 
*'\^^^X1 ^^^^ TW - \i-iSiX '^^'^'^^ 
 
Ad Fifth 
 
 show his face! — If he were here, I 'd make him give up 
 his pretensions direftly! — 
 
 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 charadlers, he is ready to support 
 them in whatever way you please. 
 
 Sir Luc, Well, this is lucky. — Now you have an op- 
 portunity — 
 
 Acres. What, quarrel with my dear friend Jack Ab- 
 solute? not if he were fifty Beverleys! Zounds! Sir Lu- 
 cius, you would not have me so unnatural. 
 
 Sir Luc. Upon my conscience, Mr. Acres, your valour 
 has oo%ed 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? 
 
 Acres. Look'ee, Sir Lucius, 'tis n't that I mind the 
 word coward — coward may be said in joke — But if 
 you had called me 2, 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. 
 
 [ 113] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 Ahs. 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! — 
 
 jS/r 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 ? 
 
 Jbs. Come on then, sir — \_Draws'\-, since you won't 
 let it be an amicable suit, here's my reply. 
 
 Enter Sir Anthony Absolute, David, Mrs. Mala- 
 PROP, Lydia, and Julia 
 
 Dav. Knock 'em all down, sweet Sir Anthony ; knock 
 down my master in particular; and bind his hands over 
 to their good behaviour! 
 
 Sir Anth. Put up. Jack, put up, or I shall be in a 
 frenzy — how came you in a duel, sir? 
 
 y//*;. Faith, sir, that gentleman can tell you better than 
 I ; 't was 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 ma- 
 jesty! — Zounds! sirrah, then how durst you draw the 
 king's sword against one of his subjects? 
 
 Ahs. 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? 
 
 [ "4 ] 
 
Aa Fifth 
 
 Sir Luc. Your son, sir, insulted me in a manner which 
 my honour could not brook. 
 
 Sir Anth, Zounds! Jack, how durst you insult the 
 gentleman in a manner which his honour could not 
 brook ? 
 
 Mrs, Mai. Come, come, let's have no honour before 
 ladies — Captain Absolute, come here — How could you 
 intimidate us so? — Here's Lydia has been terrified to 
 death for you. 
 
 Ahs. For fear I should be killed, or escape, ma'am ? 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Nay, no delusions to the past — Lydia is 
 convinced; speak, child. 
 
 Sir Luc. With your leave, ma'am, I must put in a 
 word here — I believe I could interpret the young lady's 
 silence. — Now mark — 
 
 Lyd. What is it you mean, sir? 
 
 Sir Luc. Come, come, Delia, we must be serious now 
 — this is no time for trifling. 
 
 Lyd. 'T is true, sir ; and your reproof bids me offer 
 this gentleman my hand, and solicit the return of his 
 affeftions. 
 
 Abs. Oh ! 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. 
 
 [ "5 ] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 Sir Anth. Well said, Jack, and I '11 stand by you, my 
 boy. 
 
 Acres. Mind, I give up all my claim — I make no 
 pretensions to 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 
 handwriting, here — \_Takes out letters 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Oh, he will dissolve my mystery! — Sir 
 Lucius, perhaps there's some mistake, — perhaps I can 
 illuminate — 
 
 Sir Luc. Pray, old gentlewoman, don't interfere 
 where you have no business. — Miss Languish, are you 
 my Delia, or not ? 
 
 Lyd. Indeed, Sir Lucius, I am not. 
 
 \lValks aside with Captain Absolute 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Sir Lucius O'Trigger — ungrateful as you 
 are — I own the soft impeachment — pardon my blushes, 
 I am Delia. 
 
 Sir Luc. You Delia — pho ! pho! be easy. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Why, thou barbarous Vandyke — those 
 letters are mine — When you are more sensible of my 
 benignity — perhaps I may be brought to encourage 
 your addresses. 
 
 Sir Luc. Mrs. Malaprop, I am extremely sensible of 
 
 your condescension ; and whether you or Lucy have put 
 
 this trick on me, I am equally beholden to you. — And 
 
 to show you I am not ungrateful. Captain Absolute, 
 
 [ ii6] 
 
Aa Fifth 
 
 since you have taken that lady from me, I'll give you 
 my Delia into the bargain. 
 
 Jhs. 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 w^rinkles! No. — But give me your hand. 
 Sir Lucius, forget and forgive ; but if ever I give you a 
 chance q{ 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 
 
 yul, [Aside J\ He seems dejedled and unhappy — not 
 sullen ; there was some foundation, however, for the tale 
 he told me — O woman! how true should be your judg- 
 ment, when your resolution is so weak! 
 
 Faulk, Julia! — how can I sue for what I so little de- 
 serve? I dare not presume — yet Hope is the child of 
 Penitence. 
 
 yul. O Faulkland, you have not been more faulty 
 in your unkind treatment of me, than I am now in 
 wanting inclination to resent it. As my heart honestly 
 bids me place my weakness to the account of love, I 
 should be ungenerous not to admit the same plea for 
 yours. 
 
 Faulk. Now I shall be blest indeed ! 
 
 Sir Anth. [Coming forward.^ What's going on here? 
 — So you have been quarrelling too, I warrant! — Come, 
 
 [ "7 ] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 Julia, I never interfered before ; but let me have a hand 
 in the matter at last. — All the fault I have ever seen 
 in my friend Faulkland seemed to proceed from w^hat 
 he calls the delicacy and warmth of his affedlion for 
 you. — There, marry him direftly, 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 disap- 
 pointed myself, it will be very hard if I have not the 
 satisfa6lion 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 
 labours 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-dire6led imagination, 
 which might have betrayed an innocent heart; and 
 mine^ for having, by her gentleness and candour, re- 
 formed the unhappy temper of one who by it made 
 wretched whom he loved most, and tortured the heart 
 he ought to have adored. 
 
 Ahs. Well, Jack, we have both tasted the bitters, as well 
 as the sweets of love; with this difference only, that you 
 always prepared the bitter cup for yourself, while / — 
 
 [ "8] 
 
Aca Fifth 
 
 Lyd. Was always obliged to me for it, hey! Mr. Mo- 
 desty? — But come, no more of that — our happiness is 
 now as unalloyed as general. 
 
 Jul. Then let us study to preserve it so: and while 
 Hope pi6lures to us a flattering scene of future bliss, let 
 us deny its pencil those colours which are too bright to 
 be lasting. — When hearts deserving happiness would 
 unite their fortunes, Virtue would crown them with an 
 unfading garland of modest hurtless flowers; but ill- 
 judging Passion will force the gaudier rose into the 
 wreath, whose thorn offends them when its leaves are 
 dropped ! [Exeunt omnes 
 
 [ "9l 
 
Epilogue 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR 
 
 Spoken by Mrs. BuLKLEY 
 
 LADIES, ior you — I heard our poet say — 
 J He'd try to coax some moral from his play: 
 "One moral's plain," cried I, " without more fuss: 
 Man's social happiness all rests on us : 
 Through all the drama — whether damn'd or not — 
 Love gilds the scene^ and women guide the plot. 
 From every rank obedience is our due — 
 D 'ye doubt ? — The world's great stage shall prove it true." 
 
 The cit, well skill'd to shun domestic strife, 
 Will sup abroad; but first he'll ask his wife: 
 John Troty 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 vidlor 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. 
 
 [ '21 ] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 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 this world of night : 
 Dear spark! that oft through winter's chilling woes 
 Is all the warmth his little cottage knows! 
 
 The wandering Tar^ who not for years has press'd 
 The widow'd partner of his day of rest. 
 On the cold deck, far from her arms removed. 
 Still hums the ditty which his Susan loved ; 
 And while around the cadence rude is blown, 
 The boatswain whistles in a softer tone. 
 
 The Soldiery 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! 
 
Notes 
 
Notes 
 
 Preface 
 
 " Ij^ AD ED ideas fioat in tie fancy like lalf-forgotten dreams; 
 3l/ and the imagination in its fullest enjoyments becomes sus- 
 picious of its offsprings and doubts whether it has created or 
 adopted^ 
 
 This passage was quoted by Burgoyne, in the preface of the 
 Heiress. The same thought is to be found also in the Auto- 
 crat of the Breakfast-Table^ where Dr. Holmes said, "I never 
 wrote a line of verse that seemed to me comparatively good, 
 but it appeared old at once, and often as if it had been bor- 
 rowed." A little earlier in the same chapter, the Autocrat had 
 declared the law which governs in such cases : "When a per- 
 son of fair character for literary honesty uses an image such 
 as another has employed before him, the presumption is that 
 he has struck upon it independently, or unconsciously re- 
 called it, supposing it his own." 
 
 ** // is not without pleasure that I catch at an opportunity of justi- 
 fying myself from the charge of intending any national reflection 
 in the char a ^er of Sir Lucius O' Trigger." 
 In his Retrospections of the Stage, John Bernard, who was pre- 
 sent at the unfortunate first performance of the Rivals, has 
 declared that the audience was indifferent to Sir Lucius as 
 afted by Lee. When the play was revised, Clinch took the 
 part. Why any one should objedl to Sir Lucius, it is now dif- 
 ficult to discover. Sir Lucius is one of the best of stage-Irish- 
 men, and he is emphatically an Irish gentleman. 
 
 A61I 
 
 Scene I 
 '''Thou as: But pray, Mr. Fag,what kind ofa place is this BathP'^ 
 It is not easy now to understand fully the extraordinary 
 
 ["5] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 brilliancy of Bath after Beau Nash had organized Society- 
 there. The manners and customs of Bath, as they were a 
 very few years before the date of the Rivals^ may be seen 
 in Anstey's 'New Bath Guide, first published jn 1766; and 
 Anstey's lively verses prove that the town offered unusual 
 advantages to the social satirist and the comic dramatist. In 
 Hufnphrey Clinker, Smollett has left us an elaborate descrip- 
 tion of the place and the people to be met there. Foote's 
 comedy, the Maid of Bath, was a dramatic setting of the ro- 
 mantic story of Miss Linley, Sheridan's wife. The best ac- 
 count of Bath at this time is to be found in a French book, A. 
 Barbeau's Une Ville d'Eaux Jnglaise (Paris : Picard, 1904). 
 
 Scene II 
 "Lydia : And could not you get * The Reward of Constancy^ ?'* 
 Miss Lydia Languish seems to have had a catholic taste in 
 fiftion. Most of the books she sought were novelties : The 
 Mistakes of the Heart and T/je Tears of Sensibility were trans- 
 lations from the French, published in 1773. The Delicate 
 Distress and The Gordian Knot had been published together 
 in four volumes in the same year. The Memoirs of a Lady of 
 Quality {i.e. Lady Vane) were included in Smollett's Pere- 
 grine Pickle, published first in 175 1 ; Humphrey Clinker ^id 
 not appear till 1771. The Sentimental Journey had been ori- 
 ginally published in 1768, in two volumes. 
 
 "Lydia: Here, my dear Lucy, hide these books." 
 Miss Languish was evidently fond of Smollett. After Pere- 
 grine Pickle, with its Memoirs of a Lady of Quality, and 
 after Humphrey Clinker, comes Roderick Rando?n, published 
 in 1748. The Innocent Adultery was the second title of South- 
 erne's tragedy. The Fatal Marriage, revived as Isabella; or, 
 the Fatal Marriage, for Mrs. Siddons, after Sheridan became 
 the manager of Drury Lane Theatre. A century ago English 
 plays were read as French plays are still. Henry Mackenzie's 
 Man of Feeling had first appeared in 177 1. Mrs. Chapone's 
 
 [ 126 ] 
 
Notes 
 
 Letters on the Improvement of the Mi?id^ addressed to her niece, 
 had been published in 1773 in two volumes ; and Lord Ches- 
 terfield's Letters, written in 1768, had not been given to the 
 world until 1774. From notes found by Moore, we know that 
 Sheridan had begun to draft a criticism of Lord Chesterfield's 
 precepts just before he sat down resolutely to the writing of 
 this play. 
 
 "Mrs. Malaprop: ^Tis safest in matrimony to begin with a 
 little aversion^ 
 
 With a readiness recalling Sheridan's own promptness in 
 repartee, George Canning quoted this assertion of Mrs. 
 Malaprop's, in a speech delivered in the House of Com- 
 mons in 1825. 
 
 "Sir. Anthony: Well, I must leave you^ 
 The traditional business of Sir Anthony's departure requires 
 him to bow and gain the door, and then to return to say the 
 next clause as though it had just occurred to him. This 
 leave-taking, protracted by Mrs. Malaprop's elaborate cour- 
 tesies, is repeated two or three times before Sir Anthony 
 finally takes himself off. 
 
 " Lucy : And a black padusoy.^^ 
 
 Paduasoy was a particular kind of silk stuff, deriving its name 
 
 from the Italian town Padua, and the French word soie^ silk. 
 
 Ad II 
 
 Scene I 
 
 "Fag: / beg pardon, sir — / beg pardon — but, with submis- 
 sion, a lie is nothing unless one supports it. Sir, whe?iez>er I draw 
 on my invention for a good current lie, I always forge indorse- 
 ments as well as the bill.'* 
 
 This use of mercantile technicalities was not uncommon 
 with Sheridan ; and Fag's idioms may be compared with 
 
 [ '27] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 Sir Peter Teazle's declaration (^School for Scandal^ A61 II, 
 Scene II) that he "would have law merchant," for those 
 who report what they hear, so that, "in all cases of slander 
 currency, whenever the drawer of the He was not to be found, 
 the injured parties should have a right to come on any of 
 the indorsers." 
 
 " Enter Faulkland." 
 
 Faulkland is the name of two prominent characters, a father 
 and a son, in the Memoirs of Miss Sidney Biddulph, the novel 
 written by Mrs. Frances Sheridan ; but neither of them in 
 any way resembles this Faulkland of her son's. 
 
 " Acres : My hair has been in training some ti?ne.^^ 
 Here Acres removes his cap, and shows his side-curls in 
 papers. After his next speech, he turns his back to the audi- 
 ence to show his back-hair elaborately dressed. 
 
 "Acres : Damns have had their day.^^ 
 
 In his History of the English Stage (v. 461), the Rev. Mr. 
 Geneste quotes an epigram of Sir John Harrington's, quite 
 pertinent here : 
 
 "In elder times, an ancient custom was 
 To swear, in weighty matters, by the mass ; 
 But when the mass went down, as old men note. 
 They sware, then, by the cross of this same groat; 
 And when the cross was likewise held in scorn, 
 Then by their faith the common oath was sworn ; 
 Last having sworn away all faith and troth. 
 Only God damn them is their common oath. 
 Thus custom kept decorum by gradation. 
 That losing mass, cross, faith, they find damnation." 
 
 "Sir Anthony: What^s that to you^ sir?'^ 
 The alleged likeness of Sir Anthony to Smollett's Matthew 
 Bramble is very slight indeed. Sheridan's treatment of Sir 
 [ '28 ] 
 
Notes 
 
 Anthony in this scene and in the contrasting scene in the 
 next aft is exquisite comedy. In these two scenes is to be 
 found the finest writing in the play. The present scene may 
 be compared with one somewhat similar between Mrs. Lin- 
 net and Miss Linnet in the first aft of Foote's Maid of Bath. 
 
 "Sir Anthony : Like the bull in Cox's Museum.^' 
 Cox's Museum was a popular and fashionable exhibition of 
 natural and mechanical curiosities. There are many allu- 
 sions to it in contemporary literature. In Evelina for instance, 
 published in 1778, three years after the Rivals was written, 
 Miss Burney takes her heroine to Cox's Museum and de- 
 scribes some of the many marvels it must have contained. 
 
 Scene II 
 "Fag: JVe will — tue will. [Exeunt severally.]" 
 The traditional business here is for Fag to parody the exit 
 of Sir Lucius just before, calling Lucy, kissing her, saying, 
 "I'll quiet your conscience," and then making his exit, 
 humming the tune he has just caught from Sir Lucius. 
 
 Ad III 
 
 Scene III 
 
 " Mrs. Malaprop : 0/\ // gives me the hydrostatics to such a de- 
 gree. — / thought she had persisted fro?n corresponding with him; 
 hut, behold, this very day, I have interceded another letter from 
 the fellozv ; I believe I have it in my pocket. ^^ 
 As Mrs. Malaprop, Mrs. John Drew used first to take from 
 her pocket the letter of Sir Lucius and then, discovering her 
 mistake, to produce with much difficulty and in great con- 
 fusion the letter which Captain Absolute recognizes at once. 
 (See The Autobiography of Joseph Jefferson, pp. 400, 401.) 
 
 " Lydia : O heavens ! Beverley ! " 
 
 Lydia Languish has been called a second edition of Colman's 
 [ 129 ] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 Polly Honeycombe ; but the charge has only the slightest 
 foundation. It would have been more difficult to evolve 
 Lydia from Polly than to have made her out of nothing. If 
 a prototype must be found for Lydia, it had better be sought 
 in the Niece in Steele's Tender Husband, In Steele's play, 
 the relations of the Aunt and the Niece are not unlike those 
 of Mrs. Malaprop and Lydia ; and we are told that the Niece 
 "has spent all her solitude in reading romances, her head 
 is full of shepherds, knights, flowery meads, groves, and 
 streams" (Aft I, Scene I). And she anticipates Lydia in 
 thinking that "it looks so ordinary, to go out at a door to be 
 married. Indeed I ought to be taken out of a window, and 
 run away with" (Aft IV, Scene I). It may be noted, also, 
 that the lover of Steele's airy heroine visits her in disguise 
 and makes love to her before the face of the Aunt. 
 
 Scene IV 
 
 "Acres [praftising a dancing step] : These outlandish heathen 
 allemandes and cotillons are quite beyond me ! — / shall never pros- 
 per at '^//?, that's sure — fnine are true-born English legs — 
 the'^ don't understand their curst French lingo T 
 In his History of the English Stage, Geneste recalls a parallel 
 passage in the Wasps of Aristophanes, where the old man, on 
 being desired to put on a pair of Lacedemonian boots, en- 
 deavours to excuse himself by saying that one of his toes is 
 a sworn enemy to the Lacedemonians. 
 
 "Acres : That^s too civil by half.^' 
 
 In the writing of the challenge most aftors of Acres indulge 
 in "gags" beyond the bounds of all decency, and until com- 
 edy sinks into clowning. Mr. Joseph Jefferson refused to 
 make the judicious grieve by saying, "to prevent the con- 
 fusion that might arise from our both undressing the same 
 lady," and other vulgarities of that sort, retaining, however, 
 the subtler jest of Acres's pause and hesitation when he 
 
 [ 130 ] 
 
Notes 
 
 comes to the word "company," of his significant whisper 
 in the ear of Sir Lucius, and of Sir Lucius's prompt solu- 
 tion of the orthographical problem, — "With a r, of course! '* 
 
 Ad IV 
 
 Scene II 
 "Mrs. Malaprop : Caparisons doTi't become a young woman." 
 Here Mrs. Malaprop comes very near to Dogberry's "com- 
 parisons are odorous" {Much Ado About Nothings Aft III, 
 Scene V). Perhaps the earliest use of the phrase is in The 
 Posies of George Gascoigne (1575), where we find, "Since all 
 comparisons are odious." 
 
 AcftV 
 
 Scene I 
 
 "Faulkland : Julia, I have proved you to the quick!'''* 
 Moore considers that this scene was suggested by Prior's 
 ballad of the Nut-brown Maid, and so indeed it may have 
 been, although Prior's situation is very different from Sher- 
 idan's. In the Nut-brown Maid, the high-born lover con- 
 ceals his rank, approaches his mistress in various disguises, 
 and at last tests her love by a tale of murder, like Faulk- 
 land's. She stands the test like Julia. Then the lover con- 
 fesses the trick and reveals his rank, whereat the maid is 
 joyful. The point of Sheridan's more dramatic situation is 
 in the recoil of Faulkland's distrustful ingenuity on his own 
 head, and the rejeftion of his suit by Julia, so soon as he 
 declares his fraud. 
 
 "Lydia: How often have I stole forth, in the coldest night 
 in January, and found him in the garden, stuck like a dripping 
 statue." 
 
 In his notes to his own translation of Horace, Sir Theodore 
 Martin drew attention to the likeness of this speech of Ly- 
 
 [ 131 ] 
 
The Rivals 
 
 dia*s to the lines in the Tenth Ode of the Third Book, in 
 which Horace adjures a certain Lyce to take pity on him. 
 
 "You would pity, sweet Lyce, the poor soul that shivers 
 Out here at your door in the merciless blast. 
 
 "Only hark how the doorway goes straining and creaking, 
 And the piercing wind pipes through the trees that sur- 
 round 
 
 The court of your villa, while black frost is streaking 
 With ice the crisp snow that lies thick on the ground! 
 
 "Yet be not as cruel ^ — forgive my upbraiding — 
 As snakes, nor as hard as the toughest of oak ; 
 
 Think, to stand out here, drenched to the skin, serenading 
 All night may in time prove too much of a joke." 
 
 Scene II 
 "Absolute : Really^ sir, you have the advantage of meT 
 Captain Absolute is the son of a long line of light and lively 
 heroes of comedy, and the father of a line almost as long. 
 Foremost among his ancestors is the inventive protagonist- 
 of Foote's Liar^ and foremost'' among his progeny is the even 
 more slippery young man in Boucicault's London Assurance^ 
 who ventures to deny his father in much the same fashion 
 as Captain Absolute. 
 
 Scene III 
 "Acres : By my valour I " 
 
 By a hundred devious ways, Bob Acres traces his descent 
 from that other humorous coward. Sir Andrew Aguecheek ; 
 and the duels into which both gentlemen enter valiantly 
 are not without a certain highly comic resemblance. 
 
 "Sir Lucius : Vm told there is very snug lying in the Abbey T 
 This reference is, of course, to the Abbey church, at Bath, 
 in which Sarah Fielding, the sister of the novelist, is buried. 
 
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