I PR 3682 
 .R4 
 1920 
 Copy 1 
 
 BERIDA 
 
 RIVALS 
 
 I LIVING LIT 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
Class _H 
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 OopyiigtitN°_l9_£^l_ 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSrr. 
 
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LIVING LITERATURE SERIES 
 
 ^^^/ r Richard Burton, Ph.D., Editor-in-Chief "%^j0& 
 
 THE RIVALS 
 
 BY 
 
 RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 WILLIAM LYON PHELPS 
 
 LAMPSON PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH 
 LITERATURE AT YALE 
 
 THE GREGG PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK CHICAGO BOSTON SAN FRANCISCO 
 LONDON 
 
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 o&A 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 192 0, BY THE 
 GREGG PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 .:>*. 
 
 
 §)C!,A608341 
 
 ' FEt» 1 4 1921 
 
PREFACE 
 
 The literature that lives has nothing to do with Time. 
 It may be a farce by Aristophanes, a speech of Cicero's, 
 a canto of Dante's song, or a story by 0. Henry ; it is always 
 a question of vitality. On the contrary, a piece of writing 
 that lacks this precious, preservative quality dies the day 
 it is born. The idea that because a poem, a tale, a play, 
 or an essay was written a hundred or a thousand years ago, 
 it must necessarily be dead, is quite false. Always the 
 question is: Has it charm, beauty, power, human meaning? 
 If it has it will survive ; if it is without these saving graces, 
 it not only will not last, but never was alive. 
 
 We speak of the "dead languages," and the familiar phrase 
 is right in the sense that the tongues themselves in the form 
 they once took are no longer vital on the lips of men. But 
 the thought and feeling embodied in the words of great 
 writers during the so-called classic days of Greece and Rome 
 are truly and splendidly alive to-day, for the simple reason 
 that they were alive then ; and are so true to the universal 
 experience of mankind, and so beautiful in their expression, 
 that Time cannot touch them nor age wither their " infinite 
 variety." 
 
 The books of the present series are vital for this reason 
 and in this sense. They belong, to be sure, to the modern 
 period and do not go further back than the eighteenth cen- 
 
iv PREFACE 
 
 tury ; most of them fall in the nineteenth or twentieth cen- 
 tury. But they are selected not because they are of this or 
 that period, but primarily for the reason that they are fine 
 examples of the art of letters, and illustrate what living 
 literature is and always will be, so long as men can read and 
 think and feel the force and attraction of winged words, 
 couched in the noble tongue which was native to those who 
 use it, and is the priceless heritage and possession of all who" 
 communicate their thought in English speech. 
 
 The first half-dozen volumes of the series offer authors, 
 British or American, who are strictly contemporary. In- 
 terest in writers of our own day naturally precedes interest 
 in the older, even standard writers. So far as appeal is 
 concerned, literature, like charity, begins at home, both 
 as to time and place. Later, some of the elder masterpieces 
 will be offered, like a novel of Scott's, or George Eliot's, or a 
 play by Oliver Goldsmith. But it should be realized and 
 recognized that the work of modern men such as Steven- 
 son, or Huxley, can lay claim to equal consideration so long 
 as it is sound as art and sane and tonic in the representation 
 of life. An author of to-day is not of necessity to be treated 
 as a suspect, although he has not so long been tested by 
 critical opinion. It is believed that the contemporary writers 
 included here have produced masterpieces deserving inclu- 
 sion in any fair, broad-minded, and enjoyable study of the 
 native letters. That is why they are presented herewith, 
 and given prominence. 
 
 R. B. 
 
SHERIDAN AND THE RIVALS 
 
 Shakespeare died in 1616, and Sheridan died in 1816. 
 Not only is there no English dramatist between those dates 
 equal to the author of The Rivals and The School for Scandal, 
 but these two plays were to maintain their supremacy for 
 more than a century after their appearance. From 1616 to 
 1892 The Rivals had no rival in the English language, with 
 the possible exception of She Stoops to Conquer which pre- 
 ceded it by two years, and The School for Scandal which 
 followed it at the same interval. The isolation of three 
 neighbouring peaks in the topography of English Drama is 
 a strange fact. Goldsmith's play was produced in 1773, 
 Sheridan's two comedies in 1775 and 1777. Thus within 
 four years three plays were presented that surpassed every- 
 thing written since 1616, and were to have no competitors 
 for many generations. The eighteenth century is curiously 
 the opposite of the twentieth; that was the golden age of 
 theatres with only three new vital dramas ; ours is the golden 
 age of drama, while the state of the theatre will not bear 
 examination. Those three vital dramas were written by 
 two Irishmen, and nothing to compare with them appeared 
 until the year 1892 saw the production, again by two Irish- 
 men, of Lady Windermere's Fan and Widowers' Houses. 
 
 As for America's contributions to the drama, so far as 
 
vi SHERIDAN AND THE RIVALS 
 
 masterpieces are concerned, they can be dismissed in one 
 sentence. Not a single great play has ever been written in 
 the Western Hemisphere. 
 
 Goldsmith did not undertake the composition of comedies 
 until he was forty; Sheridan's Rivals was produced on the 
 stage when he was twenty-three. It is difficult to discover 
 better proof of the mysterious power of genius, for The 
 Rivals was his first play, and surely he had had no time or 
 occasion to master "technique." Yet the technique is all 
 but flawless. After this success, he made himself responsible 
 for six other pieces, of which only The School for Scandal 
 (1777) and The Critic (1779) have any permanent value. 
 
 In the splendid morning of his career, he abandoned play 
 writing for politics. This is the darkest blot on his char- 
 acter. Compared with this direct sin against his talents, 
 his later debts and various lapses are mere peccadilloes. 
 There is an inexplicable perversity here; the one man in 
 three centuries who showed the greatest genius in English 
 Comedy gave it up for the political stage. His speeches in 
 the House were brilliant, and aroused enthusiasm ; but who 
 cares a counter for them now? No doubt he thought — 
 like most English-speaking people — that politics were more 
 important than art ; no doubt he delighted in the immediate 
 payment of applause that followed his orations. But the 
 plays that he wrote before he was twenty-eight are the 
 preservatives of his name. 
 
 II 
 
 Richard Brinsley Sheridan was born at Dublin, 30 October 
 1751. He came honestly by his wit. His grandfather was 
 the famous Rev. Dr. Thomas Sheridan whom everv lover of 
 
SHERIDAN AND THE RIVALS 
 
 vn 
 
 Swift and Stella will remember. When he lost the chance 
 of advancement through delightful political ineptitude 
 Swift wrote to him something that sounds - as so many of 
 Swift s statements sound - as if it were spoken in the twen- 
 tieth century "It is safer for a man's interest to blaspheme 
 God, than to be of a party out of power, or even to be thought 
 so. 
 
 The playwright's father, Thomas Sheridan, was a dis- 
 tinguished actor and theatre manager, being unlike many 
 modern theatrical managers in possessing scholarship He 
 wrote several pedagogical works, besides a dictionary and 
 grammar, which Mrs. Malaprop swallowed without digesting 
 His wife wrote a novel praised by Dr. Johnson, and a success- 
 iul play. 
 
 While Richard was yet a child, his parents moved to London 
 He went to school at Harrow, and remained there about 
 seven years. The family moved to Bath in 1770, and Richard 
 fell in love with Elizabeth Linley, who at the age of sixteen 
 seems to have been a forerunner of Jenny Lind ; for all were 
 in raptures with her singing, intoxicated with her beauty 
 and in love with her character. He persuaded her to accept 
 his protection in a trip to France, where he placed her in a 
 3onvent in order that she might escape the unwelcome atten- 
 tions of a gentleman, whose state of matrimony was only 
 me of his disqualifications, but who lacked neither ardour 
 lor assurance. Sheridan was obliged to fight two duels with 
 im rival, m the second of which our hero had the pride and 
 ^faction of losing some blood for the lady of his heart. 
 Lnis did not lessen her affection for him. Her father's con- 
 ent was finally won, and they were married 13 April 1773 
 ^nd lived happily forever after. 
 
viii SHERIDAN AND THE RIVALS 
 
 On 17 January 1775, The Rivals was produced at Covent 
 Garden, and was withdrawn after one performance. It 
 failed, not merely because of the incompetence of a certain 
 Mr. Lee in the role of Sir Lucius OTrigger, but because that 
 character himself in his original lines — many of which were 
 fortunately forgotten by the actor — irritated the hair- 
 trigger sensitiveness of Celtic sympathisers. Furthermore 
 the play was too long and in places shrieked for revision. 
 It speedily received both amputation and treatment, and with 
 a refined Sir Lucius, a new actor to impersonate him, and 
 enormous improvement by the whole cast, notably in the 
 portrayal of Sir Anthony by Mr. Shuter, it reappeared on 
 the night of January 28 and made an instant and prodigious 
 success. In gratitude for the triumph of Clinch, who played 
 Sir Lucius, Sheridan wrote for him in forty-eight hours a 
 farce called St. Patrick's Day; or, The Scheming Lieutenant, 
 which was presented 2 May 1775. Reading it to-day, it seems 
 intolerably dull; but it was given at the Empire Theatre, 
 New York, 13 March 1900, by the pupils of Mr. Franklin 
 Sargent, and won respectful attention from the audience 
 and not unfriendly criticism from the press. 
 
 On 21 November 1775 Sheridan produced a comic opera 
 from his own pen, The Duenna, which was instantly suc- 
 cessful. The next year he followed Garrick as Manager of 
 Drury Lane Theatre, but Sheridan was ideally unfitted to 
 manage anything that required even rudimentary ability in 
 financial affairs. On 24 February 1777 was acted his Bowd- 
 lerised version of Vanbrugh's Relapse, called A Trip to Scar- 
 borough, which is mediocre. You cannot expurgate Resto- 
 ration Drama, as you can Shakespeare. After you expurgate 
 it, there is nothing left. 
 
SHERIDAN AND THE RIVALS ix 
 
 On 8 May 1777 came Sheridan's second climax, The School 
 for Scandal. It was of course successful, as it has ever been, 
 is, and ever will be. I do not share the common opinion 
 that it is superior to The Rivals. It is less spontaneous, less 
 human ; the gain in satire is at the expense of naturalness, 
 and the characters run in grooves; but from any point of 
 view it is a great comedy, and the Screen Scene has been a 
 godsend to teachers of playwriting. . . . Sheridan's last 
 original play was a burlesque, The Critic, presented on his 
 birthday, 30 October 1779. This is one of the funniest 
 travesties ever written, and to-day is a sure card in amateur 
 theatricals. 
 
 On 24 May 1799, Sheridan took advantage of the strange 
 vogue of Kotzebue, and brought out Pizarro, a play based on 
 the original Spaniards in Peru. Its box-office success may 
 have been owing largely to the magnificent cast which in- 
 cluded Mrs. Siddons, John Philip Kemble, Charles Kemble, 
 Mrs. Jordan, while the title role was played by Mr. Barry- 
 more ! This ought to have been called an all-star perform- 
 ance, and it is a pity that such talent should have been 
 wasted on such trash. The author of The Critic must have 
 written Pizarro: a Tragedy, with his tongue in his cheek, 
 for it sounds like a burlesque. Here is the way the tragedy 
 begins : 
 
 Elvira (Mrs. Siddons) : Audacious ! Whence is thy privilege 
 to interrupt the few moments of repose my harassed mind can 
 snatch amid the tumults of this noisy camp? Shall I inform 
 your master of this presumptuous treachery? Shall I disclose 
 thee to Pizarro ? hey ! 
 
 Like many members of his company, Sheridan longed to 
 
x SHERIDAN AND THE RIVALS 
 
 play another role than the one for which he was foreordained. 
 In 1780 he entered Parliament, where his ability in public 
 speaking — rare with dramatists and rarer with actors — 
 together with his conversational powers, made him a notable 
 figure. Like Henry Clay, he fascinated the House with his 
 eloquence, and like Henry Clay, his speeches are unread and 
 forgotten. I recollect a passage in one of the novels by 
 Henry James, where a young man, who had political pros- 
 pects, decides to go on the theatrical stage. A British 
 matron cannot understand such low tastes, and exclaims, 
 "How is it possible for you to think of the theatre when you 
 might enter Parliament?" A man of the world replies, 
 "Ah, but comedian for comedian, isn't the theatre rather 
 more dignified?" 
 
 The greatest calamity of many in his life happened in 1792, 
 when his wife died. She was a charming woman, devoted to 
 her husband, having never recovered from her early romantic 
 passion for him; and she was universally admired and re- 
 spected. In 1795 Sheridan was married to a young girl by 
 the impossible name of Ogle. Youth sometimes knows more 
 than maturity; the wise words written in The School for 
 Scandal on the mating of the autumnal Sir Peter with the 
 springlike Lady Teazle were not heeded by their author. 
 In later years he must have listened to them from the stage 
 with mixed feelings. His friendship with the Prince of 
 Wales — which all spectators of the play Beau Brummell 
 will remember — was even worse for him than his second 
 marriage; it brought indeed a series of disasters. Then 
 came the final blow to his security when Drury Lane Theatre 
 was burned in 1809. 
 
 No happiness remained. Life was a chronic struggle with 
 
SHERIDAN AND THE RIVALS xi 
 
 creditors. He was arrested for debt ; his health failed, and 
 he died 7 July 1816. Romantic legends have bloomed over 
 his dust ; but the size of his debts and the persecutions of the 
 bailiffs have been exaggerated. 
 
 He was buried in Westminster Abbey, not with the Poli- 
 ticians, but with the Poets. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Sometimes, after a long reign of artificiality upon the stage, 
 an original writer or a group of writers may succeed in de- 
 stroying its vogue. We are all living to-day in the shadow 
 cast by Henrik Ibsen ; we know what Lessing accomplished 
 in the eighteenth century, and what Hauptmann and Suder- 
 mann achieved in the nineteenth; what Henry Becque did 
 to French drama; what happened to British Drama when 
 Shaw, Galsworthy, Synge, and Barrie took hold of it. Sen- 
 timental Comedy enjoyed a flourishing existence in England 
 until it received mortal wounds from the sharp pens of Gold- 
 smith and Sheridan. Now the difference between sentimen- 
 tal comedy and true comedy is simply the difference between 
 artifice and life. 
 
 In character, situation, and dialogue The Rivals is a master- 
 piece, and together with The School for Scandal, place Sheri- 
 dan's name in English comedy second only to Shakespeare — 
 where it will remain unless future generations rank Barrie and 
 Shaw above him. Sheridan has stood the test of time, and I 
 hope they will. Sheridan's characters are naturally inferior 
 to Shakespeare's and for exactly the same reason that Ben 
 Jonsonte were inferior. They are either humour-studies, 
 which term defined nearly all the men and women in The 
 School for Scandal, and- Mrs. Malaprop, Lydia, and Faulk- 
 
xii SHERIDAN AND THE RIVALS 
 
 land in The Rivals, or they are superficial. But while they 
 lack the complexity and subtlety of the greatest persons in 
 fiction, they are — both to spectators in the theatre and to 
 readers — real. They are permanent additions to imagina- 
 tive literature — the world would be poorer without them, 
 and no one who has ever met them can possibly forget them. 
 In characterization, this fact is a triumph for Sheridan, for 
 only the best dramatists can actually add men and women to 
 our circle of acquaintances. In this one play there are four 
 persons whom everybody knows, and they did not exist 
 until Sheridan created them; Sir Anthony Absolute, Bob 
 Acres, Sir Lucius O'Trigger, and Mrs. Malaprop. 
 
 The dialogue is conversational, as it ought to be; it is 
 neither rhetorical nor declamatory. With the exception of a 
 few passages that merely the lapse of time has made old- 
 fashioned, it is surprising what vigour and vividness there are 
 in the mere talk of the play. Lydia, Faulkland, and Julia 
 speak artificially because they were meant to do so. Lydia 
 and Faulkland are "humours," in the true style of Ben 
 Jonson, and must converse in a manner appropriate to their 
 respective oddities. In these two Sheridan is not only 
 satirising the sentimental comedy, but is satirising some- 
 thing eternal in human nature, which can be easily verified 
 in 1920. 
 
 The plot observes the Unity of Time ; the constructive 
 skill exhibited is nothing short of amazing, when we consider 
 that it is a young man's first play. The audience are let into 
 the secret from the start, and we enjoy the confusions into 
 which characters fall, just as the spectators in 1775 enjoyed 
 them, and as applauding theatre-goers will enjoy them in the 
 year 2075. Everything happens within a few hours, and while 
 
SHERIDAN AND THE RIVALS xiii 
 
 the speed of the action is almost breathless, there is not a 
 moment of obscurity or perplexity. It is true that the sub- 
 plot of Julia and Faulklan$ can now be removed from the 
 piece ; but I believe that it is better to leave it where it be- 
 longs, for it supplies an almost necessary foil to the main 
 story. 
 
 The Rivals is great drama and great literature, and theatre- 
 goers in every generation have had and will have opportuni- 
 ties to enjoy it. Perhaps the most notable American per- 
 formance of recent times was in the year 1896, when a group 
 of truly distinguished actors united to present it in a manner 
 worthy of the author. Never shall I forget the night of 
 8 May 1896, when I saw it performed in New Haven with 
 the following cast : 
 
 Sir Anthony Absolute . . William H. Crane 
 
 Captain Absolute .... Robert Taber 
 
 Faulkland Joseph Holland 
 
 Acres Joseph Jefferson 
 
 Sir Lucius O'Trigger . . . Nat. C. Goodwin 
 
 Fag E. M. Holland 
 
 David Francis Wilson 
 
 Mrs. Malaprop Mrs. John Drew 
 
 Lydia Languish Julia Marlowe 
 
 Lucy Fanny Rice 
 
 This company was not only composed of famous individuals, 
 but of men and women who added to their personal charm 
 a thoroughly intelligent understanding of the characters 
 they portrayed. I can see now the wonderful Mrs. Drew,, 
 who was then seventy-seven years old, and who played with 
 such perfect expression and intonation that she was called. 
 
xiv SHERIDAN AND THE RIVALS 
 
 back to the stage, not by hand-clapping, but by roars of 
 delight ; she was visibly moved by the demonstration, and 
 kissed her hands to the audience. 
 
 If there ever was a work that deserved to be included in a 
 " Living Literature Series," that work is Sheridan's Rivals. 
 It is radiant with good health ; its surface sparkles from the 
 hidden springs of life. 
 
 William Lyon Phelps. 
 Yale University, 
 
 Tuesday, 24 August 1920. 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 A COMEDY 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 A preface to a play seems generally to be considered as a 
 kind of Closet-prologue, in which — if his Piece has been 
 successful — the Author solicits that indulgence from the 
 Reader which he had before experienced from the Audience : 
 But as the scope and immediate object of a Play is to please a 
 mixed assembly in Representation (whose judgment in the 
 Theatre at least is decisive), its degree of reputation is usually 
 as determined by the public, before it can be prepared for the 
 cooler tribunal of the Study. Thus any farther solicitude 
 on the part of the Writer becomes unnecessary at least, if 
 not an intrusion; and if the Piece has been condemned in 
 the Performance, I fear an Address to the Closet, like an 
 Appeal to posterity, is constantly regarded as the procras- 
 tination of a suit, from a consciousness of the weakness of 
 the cause. From these considerations, the following Comedy 
 would certainly have been submitted to the Reader, without 
 any further introduction than what it had in the Representa- 
 tion, but that its success has probably been founded on a cir- 
 cumstance which the Author is informed has not before 
 attended a theatrical trial, and which consequently ought not 
 to pass unnoticed. 
 
 xv 
 
xvi PREFACE 
 
 I need scarcely add, that the circumstance alluded to was 
 the withdrawing of the Piece, to remove those imperfections 
 in the first Representation which were too obvious to escape 
 reprehension, and too numerous to admit of a hasty correction. 
 There are few writers, I believe, who, even in the fullest con- 
 sciousness of error, do not wish to palliate the faults which 
 they acknowledge; and, however trifling the performance, 
 to second their confession of its deficiencies, by whatever plea 
 seems least disgraceful to their ability. In the present in- 
 stance, it cannot be said to amount either to candour or 
 modesty in me, to acknowledge an extreme inexperience and 
 want of judgment on matters, in which, without guidance 
 from practice, or spur from success, a young man should 
 scarcely boast of being an adept. If it be said that under 
 such disadvantages no one should attempt to write a play — 
 I must beg leave to dissent from the position, while the first 
 point of experience that I have gained on the subject is, a 
 knowledge of the candour and judgment with which an 
 impartial Public distinguishes between the errors of inex- 
 perience and incapacity, and the indulgence which it shows 
 even to a disposition to remedy the defects of either. 
 
 It were unnecessary to enter into any farther extenuation 
 of what was thought exceptionable in this Play, but that it 
 has been said, that the Managers should have prevented some 
 of the defects before its appearance to the public — and in 
 particular the uncommon length of the piece as represented 
 the first night. — It were an ill return for the most liberal and 
 gentlemanly conduct on their side, to suffer any censure to 
 rest where none was deserved. Hurry in writing has long 
 been exploded as an excuse for an author ; — however, in the 
 dramatic fine, it may happen, that both an Author and a 
 
PREFACE xvii 
 
 Manager may wish to fill a chasm in the entertainment of the 
 Public with a hastiness not altogether culpable. The season 
 was advanced when I first put the play into Mr. Harris's 
 hands : — it was at that time at least double the length of any 
 acting comedy. — I profited by his judgment and experience 
 in the curtailing of it — 'till, I believe, his feeling for the 
 vanity of a young Author got the better of his desire for 
 correctness, and he left many excrescences remaining, be- 
 cause he had assisted in pruning so many more. Hence, 
 though I was not uninformed that the Acts were still too 
 long, I flattered myself that, after the first trial, I might 
 with safer judgment proceed to remove what should appear 
 to have been most dissatisfactory. Many other errors there 
 were, which might in part have arisen from my being by no 
 means conversant with plays in general, either in reading 
 or at the theatre. — Yet I own that, in one respect, I did 
 not regret my ignorance : for as my first wish in attempting 
 a Play was to avoid every appearance of plagiary, I thought 
 I should stand a better chance of effecting this from being 
 in a walk which I had not frequented, and where consequently 
 the progress of invention was less likely to be interrupted by 
 starts of recollection : for on subjects on which^the mind has 
 been much informed, invention is slow of exerting itself. — 
 Faded ideas float in the fancy like half -forgotten dreams ; 
 and the imagination in its fullest enjoyments becomes sus- 
 picious of its offspring, and doubts whether it has created or 
 adopted. 
 
 With regard to some particular passages which on the First 
 Night's Representation seemed generally disliked, I confess, 
 that if I felt any emotion of surprise at the disapprobation, 
 it was not that they were disapproved of, but that I had not 
 
xviii PREFACE 
 
 before perceived that they deserved it. As some part of the 
 attack on the Piece was begun too early to pass for the sen- 
 tence of JudgTnent, which is ever tardy in condemning, it has 
 been suggested to me, that much of the disapprobation must 
 have arisen from virulence of Malice, rather than severity 
 of Criticism : but as I was more apprehensive of there being 
 just grounds to excite the latter, than conscious of having 
 deserved the former, I continue not to believe that probable, 
 which I am sure must have been unprovoked. However, if it 
 was so, and I could even mark the quarter from whence it came, 
 it would be ungenerous to retort ; for no passion suffers more 
 than malice from disappointment. For my own part, I see 
 no reason why the Author of a Play should not regard a First 
 Night's Audience as a candid and judicious friend attending, 
 in behalf of the Public, at his last Rehearsal. If he can dis- 
 pense with flattery, he is sure at least of sincerity, and even 
 though the annotation be rude, he may rely upon the justness 
 of the comment. Considered in this light, that Audience, 
 whose fiat is essential to the Poet's claim, whether his object 
 be Fame or Profit, has surely a right to expect some deference 
 to its opinion, from principles of Politeness at least, if not 
 from Gratitude. 
 
 As for the little puny Critics, who scatter their peevish 
 strictures in private circles, and scribble at every Author 
 who has the eminence of being unconnected with them, as 
 they are usually spleen-swoln from a vain idea of increasing 
 their consequence, there will always be found a petulance and 
 illiberality in their remarks, which should place them as far 
 beneath the notice of a Gentleman as their original dulness 
 had sunk them from the level of the most unsuccessful Author. 
 
 It is not without pleasure that I catch at an opportunity of 
 
PREFACE xix 
 
 justifying myself from the charge of intending any national 
 reflection in the character of Sir Lucius 0' 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 attach- 
 ment to the country supposed to be reflected on, I should have 
 been happy in its fate ; and might with truth have boasted, 
 that it had done more real service in its failure, than the 
 successful morality of a thousand stage-novels will ever effect. 
 It is usual, I believe, to thank the Performers in a new Play, 
 for the exertion of their several abilities. But where (as in 
 this instance) their merit has been so striking and uncon- 
 troverted, as to call for the warmest and truest applause from 
 a number of judicious Audiences, the Poet's after-praise comes 
 like the feeble acclamation of a child to close the shouts of a 
 multitude. The conduct, however, of the Principals in a 
 theatre cannot be so apparent to the Public. — I think it 
 therefore but justice to declare, that from this Theatre (the 
 only one I can speak of from experience) those Writers who 
 wisb to try the Dramatic Line will meet with that candour 
 and liberal attention, which are generally allowed to be better 
 calculated to lead genius into excellence, than either the 
 precepts of judgment, or the guidance of experience. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 [At First Performance, Covent Garden, London, 17 January 1775] 
 
 Sir Anthony 
 
 Absolute . Mr. Shuter 
 Captain 
 
 Absolute . Mr. WoodwaroX/ 
 
 Faulkland . Mr. Lewis v 
 
 Acres . . . Mr. Quick X 
 Sir Lucius / 
 
 O'Trigger Mr. Lee/ 
 
 Fag .... Mr. Lee Lewes 
 
 David . . 
 
 Mr. Dunstal 
 
 Thomas . 
 
 Mr. Fearon 
 
 Mrs. M ALA- 
 
 
 PROP 
 
 Mrs. Green 
 
 % Lydia 
 
 
 Languish 
 
 Miss Barsanti 
 
 - Julia . . 
 
 . Mrs. Bulkley 
 
 Lucy . . 
 
 Mrs. Lessingham 
 
 Maid, Boy, Servants, &c. 
 Scene. — Bafh 
 Time of Action. — Five Hours 
 
 xx 
 
PROLOGUE 
 
 By the Author 
 
 SPOKEN BY MR. WOODWARD AND MR. QUICK 
 
 Enter Serjeant- at-Law, and Attorney following, and giving 
 a paper. 
 
 Serj. What's here ! — a vile cramp hand ! I cannot see 
 Without my spectacles. 
 
 Att. He means his fee. 
 
 Nay, Mr. Serjeant, good sir, try again. [Gives money. 
 
 Serj. The scrawl improves ! [more] come, 'tis pretty plain. 
 Hey ! how's this? The Poet's Brief again. ho ! 
 A poet's brief ! a poet and a fee ! 
 
 Att. Yes, sir ! though you without reward, I know, 
 Would gladly plead the Muse's cause. 
 
 Serj. So ! — so ! 
 
 Att. And if the fee offends your wrath should fall 
 On me. 
 
 Serj. Dear Dibble, no offence at all. 
 
 Att. Some sons of Phoebus in the courts we meet, 
 
 Serj. And fifty sons of Phoebus in the Fleet ! 
 
 Att. Nor pleads he worse, who with a decent sprig 
 Of bays adorns his legal waste of wig. 
 
 Serj. Full-bottomed heroes thus, on signs, unfurl 
 A leaf of laurel in a grove of curl ! 
 Yet tell your client, that, in adverse days, 
 This wig is warmer than a bush of bays. 
 
 1 
 
2 THE RIVALS 
 
 Att. Do you, then, sir, my client's place supply, 
 
 Profuse of robe, and prodigal of tie 
 
 Do you, with all those blushing powers of face, 
 
 And wonted bashful hesitating grace, 
 
 Rise in the court and flourish on the case. [Exit. 
 
 Serj. For practice then suppose — this brief will show it, — 
 Me, Serjeant Woodward, — Council for the Poet. 
 Us'd to the ground — I know 'tis hard to deal 
 With this dread Court, from whence there's no appeal; 
 No Tricking here, to blunt the edge of Law, 
 Or, damn'd in Equity, escape by Flaw : 
 But Judgment given — your Sentence must remain ; 
 No Writ of Error lies — to Drury Lane ! 
 
 Yet when so kind you seem — 'tis past dispute 
 We gain some favour, if not Costs of Suit. 
 No spleen is here ! I see no hoarded fury ; — 
 I think I never faced a milder Jury ! 
 Sad else our plight ! where frowns are transportation, 
 A hiss the gallows, and a groan, damnation ! 
 But such the public candour, without fear 
 My Client waives all right of challenge here. 
 No Newsman from our Session is dismiss'd, 
 Nor Wit nor Critic loe scratch off the list ; 
 His faults can never hurt another's ease, 
 His crime at worst — a bad attempt to please : 
 Thus, all respecting, he appeals to all, 
 And by the general voice will stand or fall. 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 By the author 
 
 SPOKEN ON THE TENTH NIGHT, BY MRS. BULKLEY 
 
 Granted our cause, our suit and trial o'er, 
 The worthy serjeant need appear no more : 
 In pleasing I a different client choose, 
 He served the Poet — I would serve the Muse. 
 Like him, I'll try to merit your applause, 
 A female counsel in a female's cause. 
 
 Look on this form, — where humour, quaint and sly, 
 Dimples the cheek, and points the beaming eye ; 
 Where gay invention seems to boast its wiles 
 In amourous 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'd form'd to teach? 
 Should you expect to hear this lady preach? 
 Is grey experience suited to her youth? 
 Do solemn sentiments become that mouth? 
 Bid her be grave, those lips should rebel prove 
 To every theme that slanders mirth or love. 
 
 Yet, thus adorn'd with every graceful art 
 
 To charm the fancy and yet reach the heart 
 
 Must we displace her, and instead advance 
 
 The goddess of the woful countenance — 
 
 The sentimental Muse? — Her emblems view, 
 
 The Pilgrim's Progress, and a sprig of rue ! 
 
 View her — too chaste to look like flesh and blood — 
 
 Primly portray'd on emblematic wood ! 
 
4 THE RIVALS 
 
 There, fix'd in usurpation, should she stand, 
 She'll snatch the dagger from her sister's hand : 
 And having made her votaries weep a flood, 
 Good heaven ! she'll end her comedies in blood — 
 Bid Harry Woodward break poor Dunstal's crown ! 
 Imprison Quick, and knock Ned Shuter down ; 
 While sad Barsanti, weeping o'er the scene, 
 Shall stab herself — or poison Mrs. Green. 
 
 Such dire encroachments to prevent in time, 
 Demands the critic's voice — the poet's rhyme. 
 Can our light scenes add strength to holy laws 
 Such puny patronage but hurts the cause : 
 Fair virtue scorns our feeble aid to ask ; 
 And moral truth disdains the trickster's mask 
 For here their favourite stands, whose brow severe 
 And sad, claims youth's respect, and pity's tear ; 
 Who, when oppress'd by foes her worth creates, 
 Can point a poniard at the guilt she hates. 
 
 ACT I 
 
 Scene I. — A Street in Bath 
 Coachman crosses the Stage; enter Fag, looking after him 
 
 Fag. What! Thomas! sure 'tis he? — What ! Thomas! 
 Thomas ! 
 
 Coach. Hay! — Odd's life! Mr. Fag! — give us your 
 hand, my old fellow-servant. 
 
 Fag. Excuse my glove, Thomas : — I'm devilish glad to 
 see you, my lad. Why, my prince of charioteers, you look as 
 hearty ! — but who the deuce thought of seeing you in Bath? 
 
THE RIVALS 5 
 
 Coach. Sure, master, Madam Julia, Harry, Mrs. Kate, 
 and the postilion be all come. 
 
 Fag. Indeed! 
 
 Coach. Aye, master thought another fit of the gout was 
 coming to make him a visit ; so he'd a mind to gi't the slip, 
 and whip ! we were all off at an hour's warning. 
 
 Fag. Aye, aye, hasty in everything, or it would not be Sir 
 Anthony Absolute ! 
 
 Coach. But tell us, Mr. Fag, how does young Master? 
 Odd ! Sir Anthony will stare to see the Captain here ! 
 
 Fag. I do not serve Captain Absolute now. 
 
 Coach. Why sure ! 
 
 Fag. At present I am employ'd by Ensign Beverley. 
 
 Coach. I doubt, Mr. Fag, you ha'n't changed for the 
 better. 
 
 Fag. I have not changed, Thomas. 
 
 Coach. No! Why didn't you say you had left young 
 Master? 
 
 Fag. No. — Well, honest Thomas, I must puzzle you no 
 farther : — briefly then — Captain Absolute and Ensign 
 Beverley are one and the same person. 
 
 Coach. The devil they are ! 
 
 Fag. So it is indeed, Thomas ; and the Ensign half of my 
 master being on guard at present — the Captain has nothing 
 to do with me. 
 
 Coach. So, so ! — What, this is some freak, I warrant ! — 
 Do, tell us, Mr. Fag, the meaning o't — you know I ha' 
 trusted you. 
 
 Fag. You'll be secret, Thomas ? 
 
 Coach. As a coach-horse. 
 
 Fag. Why then the cause of all this is — Love, — Love, 
 
6 THE RIVALS 
 
 Thomas, who (as you may get read to you) has been a mas- 
 querader ever since the days of Jupiter. 
 
 Coach. Aye, aye ; — I guessed there was a lady in the 
 case : — but pray, why does your Master pass only for En- 
 sign ? — Now if he had shamm'd General indeed 
 
 Fag. Ah! Thomas, there lies the mystery o' the matter. 
 Hark'ee, Thomas, my Master is in love with a lady of a very 
 singular taste : a lady who likes him better as a half -pay En- 
 sign than if she knew he was son and heir to Sir Anthony 
 Absolute, a baronet with three thousand a year. 
 
 Coach. That is an odd taste indeed ! — But has she got the 
 stuff, Mr. Fag? Is she rich, hey? 
 
 Fag. Rich ! — Why, I believe she owns half the stocks ! 
 Z — ds ! Thomas, she could pay the national debt as easily 
 as I could my washerwoman! She has a lapdog that eats 
 out of gold, — she feeds her parrot with small pearls, — and 
 all her thread-papers are made of bank-notes ! 
 
 Coach. Bravo ! faith ! — Odd ! I warrant she has a set of 
 thousands at least : — but does she draw kindly with the 
 Captain? 
 
 Fag. As fond as pigeons. 
 
 Coach. May one hear her name? 
 
 Fag. Miss Lydia Languish. — But there is an old tough 
 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. 
 
 Coach. Well — I wish they were once harnessed together 
 in matrimony. — But pray, Mr. Fag, what kind of a place is 
 this Bath? — I ha' heard a deal of it — here's a mort o' 
 merry-making, hey? 
 
 Fag. Pretty well, Thomas, pretty well — 'tis a good 
 
THE RIVALS 7 
 
 lounge. ^(Though at present we are, ttke other great as- 
 semblies, divided into parties — High-roomians and Low- 
 roomians ; however for my part, I have resolved to stand 
 neuter, and so I told Bob Brush at our last committee. 
 
 « Coach. But what do the folks do here? 
 
 « Fag. Oh ! there are little amusements enough » ; in the 
 morning we go to the pump-room (though neither my Master 
 nor I drink the waters) ; after breakfast we saunter on the 
 parades or play a game at billiards ; at night we dance ; 
 but d — n the place, I'm tired of it : their regular hours stupefy 
 me — not a fiddle nor a card after eleven ! — However Mr. 
 Faulkland's gentleman and I keep it up a little in private 
 parties ; — I'll introduce you there, Thomas — you'll like 
 him much. 
 
 Coach. Sure I know Mr. Du-Peigne — you know his 
 Master is to marry Madam Julia. 
 
 Fag. I had forgot. — But, Thomas, you must polish a 
 little — indeed you must. — Here now — this wig ! What 
 the devil do you do with a wig, Thomas ? — None of the 
 London whips of any degree of Ton wear wigs now. 
 
 Coach. More's the pity ! more's the pity ! I say. — 
 Odd's life ! when I heard how the lawyers and doctors had 
 took to their own hair, I thought how 'twould go next : — 
 odd rabbit it ! when the fashion had got foot on the Bar, 
 I 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. 
 
 1 Passages enclosed within guillemets were in the First Edition, and 
 omitted in the Third. 
 
8 THE RIVALS 
 
 Coach. Why, bless you, the gentlemen of they professions 
 ben't all of a mind — for in our village now thoff Jack Gauge, 
 the exciseman, has ta'en to his carrots, there's little Dick the 
 farrier swears he'll never forsake his bob, tho' all the college 
 should appear with their own heads ! 
 
 Fag. Indeed ! well said, Dick ! — but hold — mark ! 
 mark! Thomas. 
 
 Coach. Zooks ! 'tis the captain. — Is that the lady with 
 him? 
 
 Fag. No! no! that is Madam Lucy, my Master's mis- 
 tress's maid. They lodge at that house — but I must after 
 him to tell him the news. 
 
 Coach. Odd ! he's giving her money ! — Well, Mr. 
 Fag 
 
 Fag. Good-bye, Thomas. I have an appointment in 
 Gydes' Porch this evening at eight ; meet me there, and we'll 
 make a little party. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 Scene II. — A Dressing-room in Mrs. Malaprop's 
 
 Lodgings 
 
 Lydia sitting on a sofa, with a book in her hand. Lucy, as just 
 returned from a message 
 
 Lucy. Indeed, Ma'am, I transferr'd half the town in search 
 of it ! I don't believe there's a circulating library in Bath I 
 han't been at. 
 
 Lyd. And could not you get The Reward of Constancy ? 
 
 Lucy. No, indeed, Ma'am. 
 
 Lyd. Nor The Fatal Connection? 
 
 Lucy. No, indeed, Ma'am. _ 
 
 Lyd. Nor The Mistakes of the Heart? 
 
THE RIVALS 9 
 
 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 f Yes, indeed, 
 Ma'am. I asked everywhere for it ; and I might have brought 
 it from Mr. Frederick's, but Lady Slattern Lounger, who had 
 just sent it home, had so soiled and dog's-eared it, it wa'n't fit 
 for a christian to read. 
 
 Lyd. Heigh-ho ! Yes, I always know when Lady Slattern 
 has been before me. She has a most observing thumb ; and I 
 believe cherishes her nails for the convenience of making 
 marginal notes. — Well, child, what have you brought me? 
 
 Lucy. Oh ! here, ma'am. — [Taking books from under her 
 cloke, and from her pockets.] This is The Gordian Knot, — 
 and this Peregrine Pickle. Here are The Tears of Sensibility, 
 and Humphry Clinker. This is The Memoirs of a Lady of 
 Quality, written by herself, and here the second volume of 
 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. No note, Lucy? 
 
 «Lucy. No, indeed, Ma'am — but I have seen a certain 
 person — 
 
 «Lyd. What, my Beverley! Well Lucy? 
 
 «Lucy. O Ma'am he looks so desponding and melan- 
 cholic ! » 
 
10 THE RIVALS 
 
 Lyd. Hold ! Lucy — here's some one coming — quick ! 
 see who it is. (Exit Lucy.) — Surely I heard my cousin 
 Julia's voice. 
 
 Re-enter Lucy 
 
 Lucy. Lud ! Ma'am, here is Miss Melville. 
 Lyd. Is it possible ! — 
 
 Enter Julia 
 
 Lyd. My dearest Julia, how delighted am I ! — [Em- 
 brace.] How unexpected was this happiness ! 
 
 Jul. True, Lydia — and our pleasure is the greater. — 
 But what has been the matter? — you were denied to me at 
 first ! 
 
 Lyd. Ah, Julia, I have a thousand things to tell you ! — 
 But first inform me what has conjur'd you to Bath? — Is 
 Sir Anthony here ? 
 
 Jul. He is — we are arrived within this hour — and I sup- 
 pose he will be here to wait on Mrs. Malaprop as soon as 
 he is dress'd. 
 
 Lyd. Then before we are interrupted, let me impart to you 
 some of my distress ! I know your gentle nature will sympa- 
 thize with me, tho' your prudence may condemn me ! My 
 letters have informed you of my whole connexion with Bev- 
 erley ; but I have lost him, Julia ! My aunt has discovered 
 our intercourse by a note she intercepted, and has confin'd 
 me ever since! Yet, would you believe it? she has abso- 
 lutely fallen in love with a tall Irish baronet she met one 
 night since she has been here, at Lady Macshuffle's rout. 
 
 Jul. You jest, Lydia ! 
 
 Lyd. No, upon my word. — She really carries on a kind of 
 
THE RIVALS 11 
 
 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 the best — Sir Anthony 
 shall use his interest with Mrs. Malaprop. 
 
 Lyd. But you have not heard the worst. Unfortunately I 
 had quarrelled with my poor Beverley, just before my aunt 
 made the discovery, and I have not seen him since, to make 
 it up. 
 
 Jul. What was his offence? 
 
 Lyd. Nothing at all ! — But, I don't know how it was, as 
 often as we had been together, we had never had a quarrel ! 
 And, somehow I was afraid he would never give me an oppor- 
 tunity. — So, last Thursday, I wrote a letter to myself, to 
 inform myself that Beverley was at that time paying his 
 addresses to another woman. — I sign'd it your Friend un- 
 known, showed it to Beverley, charg'd him with his falsehood, 
 put myself in a violent passion, and vow'd I'd never see him 
 more. 
 
 Jul. And you let him depart so, and have not seen him 
 since ? 
 
 Lyd. 'Twas the next day my aunt found the matter out. 
 I intended only to have teased him three days and a half, and 
 now I've lost him for ever. 
 
 Jul. If he is as deserving and sincere as you have repre- 
 
12 THE RIVALS 
 
 sented him to me, he will never give you up so. ' Yet, con- 
 sider, 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 determin'd to do, ever since I knew the penalty. Nor 
 could I love the man, who would wish to wait a day for the 
 alternative.. 
 
 Jul. Nay, this is caprice ! 
 
 Lyd. What, does Julia tax me with caprice ? — I thought 
 her lover Faulkland had enured her to it. 
 
 Jul. I do not love even his faults. 
 
 Lyd. But a-propos — you have sent to him, I suppose? 
 
 Jul. Not yet, upon my word — nor has he the least idea of 
 my being in Bath. — Sir Anthony's resolution was so sudden, 
 I could not inform him of it. 
 
 Lyd. Well, Julia, you are your own mistress (though 
 under the protection of Sir Anthony), yet have you, for this 
 long year, been the slave to the caprice, the whim, the jeal- 
 ousy of this ungrateful Faulkland, who will ever delay assum- 
 ing the right of a husband, while you suffer him to be equally 
 imperious as a lover. 
 
 Jul. Nay, you are wrong entirely. We were contracted 
 before my father's death. — That, and some consequent em- 
 barrassments, have delay'd what I know to be my Faulkland's 
 most ardent wish. — He is too generous to trifle on such a 
 point — and for his character, you wrong him there, too. — 
 No, Lydia, he is too proud, too noble to be jealous ; if he is 
 captious, 'tis without dissembling; if fretful, without rude- 
 ness. — Unus'd to the foppery of love, he is negligent of the 
 little duties expected from a lover — but being unhackney'd 
 
THE RIVALS 13 
 
 in the passion, his love is ardent and sincere ; and as it en- 
 grosses his whole sou), he expects every thought and emotion 
 of his mistress to move in unison with his. — Yet, though 
 his pride calls for this full return — his humility makes him 
 undervalue those qualities in him, which should entitle 
 him to it ; and not feeling why he should be lov'd to the de- 
 gree he wishes, he still suspects that he is not lov'd enough. — 
 This temper, I must own, has cost me many unhappy hours ; 
 but I have learned to think myself his debtor, for those im- 
 perfections which arise from the ardour of his love. 
 
 Lyd. Well, I cannot blame you for defending him. — But 
 tell me candidly, Julia, had he never sav'd your life, do you 
 think you should have been attach'd to him as you are ? — 
 Believe me, the rude blast that overset your boat was a pros- 
 perous gale of love to him. 
 
 Jul. Gratitude may have strengthened my attachment to 
 Mr. Faulkland, but I loved him before he had preserved me ; 
 yet surely that alone were an obligation sufficient. 
 
 Lyd. Obligation ! — why a water spaniel would have done 
 as much ! — Well, I should never think of giving my heart to a 
 man because he could swim ! 
 
 Jul. Come, Lydia, you are too inconsiderate. 
 
 Lyd. Nay, I do but jest — What's here? 
 
 Enter Lucy in a hurry 
 
 Lucy. Ma'am, here is Sir Anthony Absolute just come 
 home with your aunt. 
 
 Lyd. They'll not come here. — Lucy do you watch. 
 
 [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. 
 
14 THE RIVALS 
 
 I'll take another opportunity of paying my respects to Mrs. 
 Malaprop, when she shall treat me, as long as she chooses, 
 with her select words so ingeniously misapplied, without being 
 mispronounced. 
 
 Re-enter Lucy 
 
 Lucy. Lud ! Ma'am, they are both coming upstairs. 
 
 Lyd. Well, I'll not detain you, Coz. — Adieu, my dear 
 Julia, I'm sure you are in haste to send to Faulkland. — There 
 — through my room you'll find another staircase. 
 
 Jul. Adieu ! [Embrace.] [Exit Julia. 
 
 Lyd. Here, my dear Lucy, hide these books. Quick, 
 quick ! — Fling Peregrine Pickle under the toilet — throw 
 Roderick Random into the closet — put The Innocent Adultery 
 into The Whole Duty of Man — thrust Lord Aimworth under 
 the sofa — cram Ovid behind the bolster — there — put 
 TJie Man of Feeling into your pocket — so, so — now lay 
 Mrs. Chapone in sight, and leave Fordyce's Sermons open on 
 the table. 
 
 Lucy. burn it, Ma'am ! the hair-dresser has torn away 
 as far as Proper Pride. 
 
 Lyd. Never mind — open at Sobriety. — Fling me Lord 
 Chesterfield's Letters. — Now for 'em. [Exit Lucy. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Malaprop, and Sir Anthony Absolute 
 Mrs. Mal. There, Sir Anthony, there sits the deliberate 
 Simpleton who wants to disgrace her family, and lavish her- 
 self on a fellow not worth a shilling. 
 
 Lyd. Madam, I thought you once 
 
 Mrs. Mal. You thought, Miss ! — I don't know any busi- 
 ness you have to think at all — thought does not become a 
 young woman ; the point we would request of you is, that you 
 
THE RIVALS 15 
 
 will promise to forget this fellow — to illiterate him, I say, 
 quite from your memory. 
 
 Lyd. Ah, Madam ! our memories are independent of our 
 wills. It is not so easy to forget. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. But I say it is, Miss ; there is nothing on earth 
 so easy as to forget, if a person chooses to set about it. — I'm 
 sure I have as much forgot your poor dear uncle as if he had 
 never existed — and I thought it my duty so to do ; and let me 
 tell you, Lydia, these violent memories don't become a young 
 woman. 
 
 Sir Anth. Why sure she won't pretend to remember what 
 she's ordered not ! — aye, this comes of her reading ! 
 
 Lyd. What crime, Madam, have I committed, to be treated 
 thus? 
 
 Mrs. Mal. 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 prefer- 
 ence for any one else, the choice you have made would be my 
 aversion. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. What business have you, Miss, with preference 
 and aversion t They don't become a young woman ; and you 
 ought to know, that as both always wear off, 'tis safest in 
 matrimony to begin with a little aversion. I am sure I hated 
 your poor dear uncle before marriage as if he'd been a black- 
 a-moor — and yet, Miss, you are sensible what a wife I made ! 
 — and when it pleas'd Heaven to release me from him, 'tis 
 unknown what tears I shed ! — But suppose we were going 
 to give you another choice, will you promise us to give up 
 this Beverley? 
 
16 THE RIVALS 
 
 Ltd. Could I belie my thoughts so far, as to give that 
 promise, my actions would certainly as far belie my 
 words. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Take yourself to your room. — You are fit 
 company for nothing but your own ill-humours. 
 
 Lyd. Willingly, Ma'am — I cannot change for the worse. 
 
 [Exit Lydia. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. There's a little intricate hussy for you ! 
 
 Sir Anth. It is not to be wondered at, Ma'am, — all 
 this is the natural consequence of teaching girls to read. 
 Had I a thousand daughters, by Heavens ! I'd as soon have 
 them taught the black art as their alphabet ! 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Nay, nay, Sir Anthony, you are an absolute 
 misanthropy. 
 
 Sir Anth. In my way hither, Mrs. Malaprop, I observed 
 your niece's maid coming forth from a circulating library ! — 
 She had a book in each hand — they were half -bound volumes 
 with marbled covers ! — From that moment I guess'd how full 
 of duty I should see her mistress ! ■ 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Those are vile places, indeed ! 
 
 Sir Anth. Madam, a circulating library in a town is, as an 
 evergreen tree, of diabolical knowledge ! — It blossoms 
 through the year! — And depend on it, Mrs. Malaprop, 
 that they who are so fond of handling the leaves, will long 
 for the fruit at last. 
 
 «Mrs. Mal. Well, but Sir Anthony, your wife, Lady 
 Absolute, was fond of books. 
 
 «Sir Anth. Aye — and injury sufficient they were to her, 
 Madam — but were I to chuse another helpmate, the extent 
 of her erudition should consist in knowing her simple letters, 
 without their mischievous combinations ; — and the summit 
 
THE RIVALS 17 
 
 of her science be — her ability to count as far as twenty. — 
 The first, Mrs. Malaprop, would enable her to work A. A. 
 upon my linen ; — and the latter would be quite sufficient to 
 prevent her giving me a Shirt, No. 1, and a Stock No. 2.» 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Fie, fie, Sir Anthony ! you surely speak laconi- 
 cally ! 
 
 Sir Anth. Why, Mrs. Malaprop, in moderation now, what 
 would you have a woman know? 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Observe me, Sir Anthony. I would by no 
 means wish a daughter of mine to be a progeny of learning ; 
 I don't think so much learning becomes a young woman ; for 
 instance, I would never let her meddle with Greek, or Hebrew, 
 or Algebra, or Simony, or Fluxions, or Paradoxes, or such 
 inflammatory branches of learning — neither would it be 
 necessary for her to handle any of your mathematical, as- 
 tronomical, diabolical instruments. — But, Sir Anthony, I 
 would send her, at nine years old, to a boarding-school, in 
 order to learn a little ingenuity and artifice. Then, Sir, 
 she should have a supercilious knowledge in accounts; — 
 and as she grew up, I would have her instructed in geometry, 
 that she might know something of the contagious countries ; 
 — but above all, Sir Anthony, she should be mistress of ortho- 
 doxy, that she might not mis-spell, and mis-pronounce words 
 so shamefully as girls usually do ; and likewise that she might 
 reprehend the true meaning of what she is saying. — This, 
 Sir Anthony, is what I would have a woman know ; — and I 
 don't think there is a superstitious article in it. 
 
 Sir Anth. Well, well, Mrs. Malaprop, I will dispute the 
 point no further with you ; though I must confess, that you 
 are a truly moderate and polite arguer, for almost every 
 third word you say is on my side of the question. — But, Mrs. 
 
18 THE RIVALS 
 
 Malaprop, to the more important point in debate — you say, 
 you have no objection to my proposal? 
 
 Mrs. Mal. None, I assure you. — I am under no positive 
 engagement with Mr. Acres, and as Lydia is so obstinate 
 against him, perhaps your son may have better success. 
 
 Sir Anth. Well, Madam, I will write for the boy directly. 
 
 — He knows not a syllable of this yet, though I have for some 
 time had the proposal in my head. He is at present with 
 his regiment. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. We have never seen your son, Sir Anthony; 
 but I hope no objection on his side. 
 
 Sir Anth. Objection ! — let him object if he dare ! — No, 
 no, Mrs. Malaprop, Jack knows that the least demur puts me 
 in a frenzy directly. — My process was always very simple — 
 in their younger days, 'twas "Jack do this"; — if he de- 
 murred, I knocked him down — and if he grumbled at that, I 
 always sent him out of the room. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Aye, and the properest way, o' my conscience ! 
 
 — nothing is so conciliating to young people as severity. — 
 Well, Sir Anthony, I shall give Mr. Acres his discharge, and 
 prepare Lydia to receive your son's invocations ; — and I hope 
 you will represent her to the Captain as an object not alto- 
 gether illegible. 
 
 Sir Anth. Madam, I will handle the subject prudently. — 
 Well, I must leave you ; and let me beg you, Mrs. Malaprop, 
 to enforce this matter roundly to the girl. — Take my ad- 
 vice — keep a tight hand; if she rejects this proposal, clap 
 her under lock and key ; and if you were just to let the ser- 
 vants forget to bring her dinner for three or four days, you 
 can't conceive how she'd come about. [Exit Sir Anth. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Well, at any rate, I shall be glad to get her 
 
THE RIVALS 19 
 
 from under my intuition. — She has somehow discovered my 
 partiality for Sir Lucius OTrigger — sure, Lucy can't have 
 betray'd me! — No, the girl is such a simpleton, I should 
 have made her confess it. — Lucy ! — Lucy ! — [Calls.] 
 Had she been one of your artificial ones, I should never have 
 trusted her. 
 
 Enter Lucy 
 
 Lucy. Did you call, Ma'am? 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Yes, girl. — Did you see Sir Lucius while you 
 was out? 
 
 Lucy. No, indeed, Ma'am, not a glimpse of him. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. You are sure, Lucy, that you never men- 
 tion'd 
 
 Lucy. Gemini ! I'd sooner cut my tongue out. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Well, don't let your simplicity be imposed on. 
 
 Lucy. No, ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. So, come to me presently, and I'll give you 
 another letter to Sir Lucius ; — but mind, Lucy — if ever you 
 betray what you are entrusted with — (unless it be other 
 people's secrets to me) you forfeit my malevolence for ever : — 
 and your being a simpleton shall be no excuse for your locality. 
 
 [Exit Mrs. Malaprop. 
 
 Lucy. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — So, my dear simplicity, let me give 
 you a little respite. — [Altering her manner.] Let girls in my 
 station be as fond as they please of appearing expert, and 
 knowing in their trusts ; — commend me to a mask of silliness, 
 and a pair of sharp eyes for my own interest under it ! — Let 
 me see to what account have I turn'd my simplicity lately. — 
 [Looks at a paper.] For abetting Miss Lydia Languish in a 
 design of running away with an Ensign! — in money sundry 
 
20 THE RIVALS 
 
 times, twelve pound twelve; gowns, five; hats, ruffles, caps, &c, 
 &c, numberless! — From the said Ensign, within this last 
 month, six guineas and a half. — About a quarter's pay ! — 
 Item, from Mrs. Malaprop, for betraijing the young people to 
 her — when I found matters were likely to be discovered — 
 two guineas, and a black paduasoy. — Item, from Mr. Acres, 
 for carrying divers letters — which I never deliver'd — two 
 guineas, and a pair of buckles. — Item, from Sir Lucius 0' Trig- 
 ger, three crowns, two gold pocket-pieces, and a silver snuff-box! 
 — Well done, simplicity ! — Yet I was forced to make my 
 Hibernian believe that he was corresponding, not with the 
 Aunt, but with the Niece : for though not over rich, I found he 
 had too much pride and delicacy to sacrifice the feelings of a 
 gentleman to the necessities of his fortune. [Exit. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST ACT 
 
 ACT II 
 
 Scene I. — Captain Absolute's Lodgings 
 Captain Absolute and Fag 
 
 Fag. Sir, while I was there, Sir Anthony came in : I told 
 him you had sent me to inquire after his health, and to know 
 if he was at leisure to see you. 
 
 Abs. And what did he say, on hearing I was at Bath? 
 
 Fag. Sir, in my life I never saw an elderly gentleman more 
 astonished ! He started back two or three paces, rapt out a 
 dozen interjectoral oaths, and asked what the devil had 
 brought you here ! 
 
 Abs. Well, sir, and what did you say? 
 
THE RIVALS 21 
 
 Fag. Oh, I lied, Sir — I forgot the precise lie ; but you. may 
 depend on't, he got no truth from me. Yet, with submis- 
 sion, for fear of blunders in future, I should be glad to fix 
 what has brought us to Bath : in order that we may lie a 
 little consistently. Sir Anthony's servants were curious, 
 Sir, very curious indeed. 
 
 Abs. You have said nothing to them ? 
 
 Fag. Oh, not a word, Sir, — not a word ! Mr. Thomas, 
 indeed, the coachman (whom I take to be the discreetest of 
 whips) — — 
 
 Abs. 'Sdeath ! — you rascal ! you have not trusted him ! 
 
 Fag. Oh, no, sir — no — no — not a syllable, upon my 
 veracity ! — He was, indeed, a little inquisitive ; but I was sly, 
 sir — devilish sly! My Master (said I), honest Thomas 
 (you know, Sir, one says honest to one's inferiors), is come to 
 Bath to recruit. — Yes, sir, I said to recruit — and whether 
 for men, money, or constitution, you know, Sir, is nothing 
 to him, nor any one else. 
 
 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 inlisted five disbanded chairmen, seven minority 
 waiters, and thirteen billiard-markers. 
 
 Abs. You blockhead, never say more than is necessary. 
 
 Fag. I beg pardon, Sir — I beg pardon — But, with sub- 
 mission, a lie is nothing unless one supports it. Sir, whenever 
 I draw on my invention for a good current lie, I always forge 
 indorsements as well as the bill. 
 
 Abs. Well, take care you don't hurt your credit by offering 
 too much security. — Is Mr. Faulkland returned? 
 
 Fag. He is above, Sir, changing his dress. 
 
22 THE RIVALS 
 
 Abs. Can you tell whether he has been informed of Sh 
 Anthony's and Miss Melville's arrival? 
 
 Fag. I fancy not, Sir ; he has seen no one since he came in, 
 but his gentleman, who was with him at Bristol. — I think, 
 Sir, I hear Mr. Faulkland coming down 
 
 Abs. Go, tell him, I am here. 
 
 Fag. Yes, Sir. — [Going.] I beg pardon, Sir, but should 
 Sir Anthony call, you will do me the favour to remember that 
 we are recruiting, if you please. 
 
 Abs. Well, well. 
 
 Fag. And, in tenderness to my character, if your Honour 
 could bring in the chairmen and waiters, I should esteem it as 
 an obligation ; for though I never scruple a lie to serve my 
 Master, yet it hurts one's conscience to be found out. [Exit. 
 
 Abs. Now for my whimsical friend — if he does not know 
 that his mistress is here, I'll tease him a little before I tell 
 him 
 
 Enter Faulkland 
 
 Faulkland, you're welcome to Bath again ; you are punctual 
 in your return. 
 
 Faulk. Yes; I had nothing to detain me when I had 
 finished the business I went on. Well, what news since I left 
 you? how stand matters between you and Lydia? 
 
 Abs. Faith, much as they were ; I have not seen her since 
 our quarrel ; however, I expect to be recalled every hour. 
 
 Faulk. Why don't you persuade her to go off with you at 
 once? 
 
 Abs. What, and lose two-thirds of her fortune? You 
 forget that, my friend. — No, no, I could have brought her 
 to that long ago. 
 
THE RIVALS 23 
 
 Faulk. Nay, then, you trifle too long — if you are sure of 
 her, propose to the aunt in your own character, and write to 
 Sir Anthony for his consent. 
 
 Abs. Softly, softly ; for though I am convinced my little 
 Lydia would elope with me as Ensign Beverley, yet am I by 
 no means certain that she would take me with the impediment 
 of our friends' consent, a regular humdrum wedding, and a 
 reversion of a good fortune on my side ; no, no ? I must pre- 
 pare her gradually for the discovery, and make myself neces- 
 sary to her, before I risk it. — Well, but Faulkland, you'll 
 dine with us to-day at the Hotel? 
 
 Faulk. Indeed, I cannot ; I am not in spirits to be of such 
 a party. 
 
 Abs. By Heavens ! I shall forswear your company. You 
 are the most teasing, captious, incorrigible lover ! — Do, 
 love like a man. 
 
 Faulk. I own I am unfit for company. 
 
 Abs. Am I not a lover ; ay, and a romantic one too ? Yet 
 do I carry everywhere with me such a confounded farrago of 
 doubts, fears, hopes, wishes, and all the flimsy furniture of a 
 country Miss's brain ! 
 
 Faulk. Ah ! Jack, your heart and soul are not, like mine, 
 fixed immutably on one only object. — You throw for a large 
 stake, but losing — you could stake, and throw again : — 
 but I have set my sum of happiness on this cast, and not to 
 succeed, were to be stript of all. 
 
 Abs. But, for Heaven's sake ! what grounds for appre- 
 hension can your whimsical brain conjure up at present? 
 «Has Julia missed writing this last post? or was her last 
 too tender, or too cool ; or too grave, or too gay ; or — 
 
 «Faulk. Nay, nay, Jack. 
 
24 THE RIVALS 
 
 «Abs. Why, her love — her honour — her prudence, you 
 cannot doubt. 
 
 «Faulk. 0! upon my soul, I never have; — but» what 
 grounds for apprehension, did you say? Heavens! are 
 there not a thousand ! I fear for her spirits — her health — 
 her life. — My absence may fret her ; her anxiety for my re- 
 turn, her fears for me, may oppress her gentle temper. And 
 for her health — does not every hour bring me cause to be 
 alarmed? If it rains, some shower may even then have 
 chilled her delicate frame ! — ■ If the wind be keen, some rude 
 blast may have affected her ! The heat of noon, the dews 
 of the evening, may endanger the life of her, for whom only I 
 value mine. 0! Jack! when delicate and feeling souls are 
 separated, there is not a feature in the sky, not a movement 
 of the elements ; not an aspiration of the breeze, but hints 
 some cause for a lover's apprehension ! 
 
 Abs. Aye, but we may choose whether we will take the 
 hint or no. — Well then, Faulkland, if you were convinced 
 that Julia was well and in spirits, you would be entirely con- 
 tent. 
 
 Faulk. I should be happy beyond measure — I am anxious 
 only for that. 
 
 Abs. Then to cure your anxiety at once — Miss Mel- 
 ville is in perfect health, and is at this moment in Bath. 
 
 Faulk. Nay, Jack — don't trifle with me. 
 
 Abs. She is arrived here with my father within this hour. 
 
 Faulk. Can you be serious ? 
 
 Abs. I thought you knew Sir Anthony better than to be 
 surprised at a sudden whim of this kind. — ■ Seriously, then, 
 it is as I tell you — upon my honour. 
 
 Faulk. My dear friend ! — Hollo, Du-Peigne ! my hat — 
 
Joseph Jefferson as Bob Acres 
 
THE RIVALS 25 
 
 my dear Jack — now nothing on earth can give me a moment's 
 uneasiness. 
 
 Enter Fag 
 
 Fag. Sir, Mr. Acres just arrived is below. 
 
 Abs. Stay, Faulkland, this Acres lives within a mile of 
 Sir Anthony, and he shall tell you how your mistress has 
 been ever since you left her. — Fag, show the gentleman up. 
 
 [Exit Fag. 
 
 Faulk. What, is he much acquainted in the family? 
 
 Abs. Oh, very intimate : I insist on your not going : be- 
 sides, his character will divert you. 
 
 Faulk. Well, I should like to ask him a few questions. 
 
 Abs. He is likewise a rival of mine — ■ that is of my other 
 self's, for he does not think his friend Captain Absolute ever 
 saw the lady in question ; — • and it is ridiculous enough to 
 hear him complain to me of one Beverley, a concealed skulking 
 rival, who 
 
 Faulk. Hush ! — He's here. 
 
 Enter Acres 
 
 Acres. Hah! my dear friend, noble captain, and honest 
 Jack, how do'st thou? just arrived faith, as you see. — Sir, 
 your humble servant. Warm work on the roads, Jack ! — 
 Odds, whips and wheels, I've travelled like a Comet, with a 
 tail of dust all the way as long as the Mall. 
 
 Abs. Ah ! Bob, you are indeed an excentric planet, but we 
 know your attraction hither — give me leave to introduce 
 Mr. Faulkland to you ; Mr. Faulkland, Mr. Acres. 
 
 Acres. Sir, I am most heartily glad to see you : Sir, I 
 solicit your connections. — Hey, Jack — what, this is Mr. 
 Faulkland, who 
 
26 THE RIVALS 
 
 Abs. Aye, Bob, Miss Melville's Mr. Faulkland. 
 
 Acres. Od'so ! she and your father can be but just arrived 
 before me — I suppose you have seen them. — Ah ! Mr. 
 Faulkland, you are indeed a happy man. 
 
 Faulk. I have not seen Miss Melville yet, Sir ; ■ — I hope 
 she enjoyed full health and spirits in Devonshire? 
 
 Acres. Never knew her better in my life, Sir, — never 
 better. Odds Blushes and Blooms ! she has been as healthy 
 as the German Spa. 
 
 Faulk. Indeed ! — I did hear that she had been a little 
 indisposed. 
 
 Acres. False, false, Sir — only said to vex you : quite the 
 reverse, I assure you. 
 
 Faulk. There, Jack, you see she has the advantage of me ; 
 I had almost fretted myself ill. 
 
 Abs. Now are you angry with your mistress for not having 
 been sick. 
 
 Faulk. No, no, you misunderstand me : — yet surely a 
 little trifling indisposition is not an unnatural consequence 
 of absence from those we love. — Now confess — isn't 
 there something unkind in this violent, robust, unfeeling 
 health? 
 
 Abs. Oh, it was very unkind of her to be well in your 
 absence to be sure ! 
 
 Acres. Good apartments, Jack. 
 
 Faulk. Well, Sir, but you were saying that Miss Melville 
 has been so exceedingly well — what then she has been merry 
 and gay I suppose? — Always in spirits — hey? 
 
 Acres. Merry, Odds Crickets ! she has been the belle and 
 spirit of the company wherever she has been — so lively 
 and entertaining ! so full of wit and humour ! 
 
THE RIVALS 27 
 
 Faulk. There, Jack, there. — 0, by my soul ! there is an 
 innate levity in woman, that nothing can overcome. — What ! 
 happy and I away ! 
 
 Abs. Have done : How foolish this is ! just now you were 
 only apprehensive for your mistress' spirits. 
 
 Faulk. Why, Jack, have I been the joy and spirit of the 
 company? 
 
 Abs. No, indeed, you have not. 
 
 Faulk. Have I been lively and entertaining ? 
 
 Abs. 0, 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 hear- 
 ing that Julia has been so well and happy — that's all — 
 hey, Faulkland? 
 
 Faulk. Oh ! I am rejoiced to hear it — yes, yes, she has a 
 happy disposition ! 
 
 Acres. That she has indeed — then she is so accomplished 
 — so sweet a voice — so expert at her Harpsichord — such a 
 mistress of flat and sharp, squallante, rumblante, and quiver- 
 ante ! — There was this time month — Odds Minims and 
 Crotchets ! how she did chirrup at Mrs. Piano's Concert ! 
 
 Faulk. There again, what say you to this? you see she 
 has been all mirth and song — not a thought of me ! 
 
 Abs. Pho ! man, is not music the food of love ? 
 
 Faulk. Well, well, it may be so. — Pray, Mr. , 
 
 what's his d — d name ? — Do you remember what Songs 
 Miss Melville sung? 
 
 Acres. Not I indeed. 
 
28 THE RIVALS 
 
 Abs. Stay, now, they were some pretty melancholy, purl- 
 ing-stream airs, I warrant ; perhaps you may recollect ; — 
 did she sing, When absent from my soul's delight f 
 
 Acres. No, that waVt it. 
 
 Abs. Or — Go, gentle Gales ! "Go, gentle Gales !" [Sings. 
 
 Acres. no ! nothing like it. Odds slips? now I recollect 
 one of them — " My heart's my own, my will is free." [Sings. 
 
 Faulk. Fool ! fool that I am ! to fix all my happiness 
 upon such a trifler ! 'Sdeath ! to make herself the pipe and 
 ballad-monger of a circle ! to sooth her light heart with catches 
 and glees ! — What can you say to this, Sir? 
 
 Abs. Why, that I should be glad to hear my mistress had 
 been so merry, Sir. 
 
 Faulk. Nay, nay, nay — I'm not sorry that she has been 
 happy — no, no, I am glad of that — I would not have had 
 her sad or sick — yet surely a sympathetic heart would have 
 shown itself even in the choice of a song — she might have 
 been temperately healthy, and somehow, plaintively gay; 
 — but she has been dancing too, I doubt not ! 
 
 Acres. What does the gentleman say about dancing? 
 
 Abs. He says the lady we speak of dances as well as she 
 sings. 
 
 Acres. Ay, truly, does she — there was at our last race 
 ball 
 
 Faulk. Hell and the devil ! — There ! — there — I told 
 you so ! Oh ! she thrives in my absence ! — Dancing ! But 
 her whole feelings have been in opposition with mine ! — I 
 have been anxious, silent, pensive, sedentary — my days have 
 been hours of care, my nights of watchfulness. — She has been 
 all health ! Spirit ! Laugh ! Song ! Dance ! — Oh ! d— nd, 
 d — e'd levity ! 
 
THE RIVALS 29 
 
 Abs. For Heaven's sake, Faulkland, don't expose yourself 
 so! — Suppose she has danced, what then? — does not the 
 ceremony of society often oblige 
 
 Faulk. Well, well, I'll contain myself — perhaps as you 
 say — for form sake. — What, Mr. Acres, you were praising 
 Miss Melville's manner of dancing a minuet — hey? 
 
 Acres. 0, I dare insure her for that — but what I was 
 going to speak of was her country dancing. Odds swimmings ! 
 she has such an air with her ! 
 
 Faulk. Now disappointment on her ! — Defend this, Abso- 
 lute; why don't you defend this? — Country-dances! jiggs 
 and reels ! am I to blame now ? A Minuet I could have for- 
 given — I should not have minded that — I say I should not 
 have regarded a Minuet — but Country-dances ! — Z — ds ! 
 had she made one in a Cotillon — I believe I could have for- 
 given even that — but to be monkey-led for a night ! — to run 
 the gauntlet thro' a string of amorous palming puppies ! — to 
 show paces like a managed filly ! — Oh, Jack, there never can 
 be but one man in the world, whom a truly modest and delicate 
 woman ought to pair with in a country-dance; and, even then, 
 the rest of the couples should be her great-uncles and 
 aunts ! 
 
 Abs. Aye, to be sure ! — grandfathers and grandmothers ! 
 
 Faulk. If there be but one vicious mind in the Set, 'twill 
 spread like a contagion — the action of their pulse beats to 
 the lascivious movement of the jigg — their quivering, warm- 
 breathed sighs impregnate the very air — the atmosphere 
 becomes electrical to love, and each amorous spark darts 
 thro' every link of the chain ! — I must leave you — I own I 
 am somewhat flurried — and that confounded looby has 
 perceived it. [Going. 
 
30 THE RIVALS 
 
 « Abs. Aye, aye, you are in a hurry to throw yourself at 
 Julia's feet. 
 
 « Faulk. I'm not in a humour to be trifled with — I shall 
 see her only to upbraid her.» 
 
 Abs. Nay, but stay, Faulkland, and thank Mr. Acres for his 
 •good news. 
 
 Faulk. D — n his news ! [Exit Faulkland. 
 
 Abs. Ha ! ha ! ha ! poor Faulkland five minutes since — 
 "nothing on earth could give him a moment's uneasiness!" 
 
 Acres. The gentleman wa'n't angry at my praising his 
 mistress, was he ? 
 
 Abs. A little jealous, I believe, Bob. 
 
 Acres. You don't say so? Ha! ha! jealous of me — 
 that's a good joke. 
 
 Abs. There's nothing strange in that, Bob : let me tell you, 
 that sprightly grace and insinuating manner of your's will do 
 some mischief among the girls here. 
 
 Acres. Ah ! you joke — ha ! ha ! mischief — ha ! ha ! but 
 you know I am not my own property, my dear Lydia has fore- 
 stalled me. She could never abide me in the country, be- 
 cause I used to dress so badly — but odds frogs and tambours ! 
 I shan't take matters so here, now ancient Madam has no 
 voice in it — I'll make my old clothes know who's master. I 
 shall straitway cashier the hunting-frock — and render my 
 leather breeches incapable. My hair has been in training 
 some time. 
 
 Abs. Indeed ! 
 
 Acres. Ay — and tho'ff the side curls are a little restive, 
 my hind-part takes to it very kindly. 
 
 Abs. O, you'll polish, I doubt not. 
 
 Acres. Absolutely I propose so — then if I can find out 
 
THE RIVALS 31 
 
 this Ensign Beverley, odds triggers and flints ! I'll make him 
 know the difference o't. 
 
 Abs. Spoke like a man! But pray, Bob, I observe you 
 have got an odd kind of a new method of swearing 
 
 Acres. Ha ! ha ! you've taken notice of it — 'tis genteel, 
 isn't it? — I didn't invent it myself though ; but a commander 
 in our militia — a great scholar, I assure you — says that 
 there is no meaning in the common oaths, and that, nothing 
 but their antiquity makes them respectable ; because, he 
 says, the ancients would never stick to an oath or two, but 
 would say, by Jove! or by Bacchus! or by Mars! or by 
 Venus ! or by Pallus, according to the sentiment — so that to 
 swear with propriety, says my little Major, the 'oath should 
 be an echo to the sense ' ; and this we call the oath referential, 
 or sentimental swearing — ha ! ha ! ha ! 'tis genteel, isn't it. 
 
 Abs. Very genteel, and very new, indeed — and I dare say 
 will supplant all other figures of imprecation. 
 
 Acres. Aye, aye, the best terms will grow obsolete. — 
 D — ns have had their day. 
 
 Enter Fag 
 
 Fag. Sir, there is a gentleman below desires to see you. — 
 Shall I show him into the parlour? 
 
 Abs. Aye — you may. 
 
 Acres. Well, I must be gone 
 
 Abs. Stay; who is it, Fag? 
 
 Fag. Your father, sir. 
 
 Abs. You puppy, why didn't you show him up directly? 
 
 [Exit Fag. 
 
 Acres. You have business with Sir Anthony. — I expect a 
 message from Mrs. Malaprop at niy lodgings. I have sent 
 
32 THE RIVALS 
 
 also to my dear friend, Sir Lucius OTrigger. Adieu, Jack ! 
 we must meet at night. Odds bottles andd glasses ! you shall 
 give me a dozen bumpers to little Lydia. 
 
 Abs. That I will with all my heart. — [Exit Acres.] Now 
 for a parental lecture — I hope he has heard nothing of the 
 business that brought me here — I wish the gout had held him 
 fast in Devonshire, with all my soul ! 
 
 Enter Sir Anthony 
 
 Abs. Sir I am delighted to see you here ; looking so well ! 
 your sudden arrival at Bath made me apprehensive for your 
 health. 
 
 Sir Anth. Very apprehensive, I dare say, Jack. — What, 
 you are recruiting here, hey? 
 
 Abs. Yes, Sir, I am on duty. 
 
 Sir Anth. Well, Jack, I am glad to see you, tho' I did not 
 expect it, for I was going to write to you on a little matter of 
 business. — Jack, I have been considering that I grow old and 
 infirm, and shall probably not trouble you long. 
 
 Abs. Pardon me, Sir, I never saw you look more strong and 
 hearty ; and I pray frequently that you may continue so. 
 
 Sir Anth. I hope your prayers may be heard with all my 
 heart. Well, then, Jack, I have been considering that I am 
 so strong and hearty, I may continue to plague you a long 
 time. Now, Jack, I am sensible that the income of your 
 commission, and what I have hitherto allowed you, is but a 
 small pittance for a lad of your spirit. 
 
 Abs. Sir, you are very good. 
 
 Sir Anth. And it is my wish, while yet I live, to have my 
 Boy make some figure in the world. — I have resolved, there- 
 fore, to fix you at once in a noble independence. 
 
THE RIVALS 33 
 
 Abs. Sir, your kindness overpowers me — such generosity 
 makes the gratitude of reason more lively than the sensation 
 even of filial affection. 
 
 Sir Anth. I am glad you are so sensible of my attention — 
 and you shall be master of a large estate in a few weeks. 
 
 Abs. Let my future life, Sir, speak my gratitude : I cannot 
 express the sense I have of your munificence. — Yet, sir, I 
 presume you would not wish me to quit the army? 
 
 Sir Anth. Oh, that shall be as your wife chooses. 
 
 Abs. My wife, Sir ! 
 
 Sir Anth. Aye, aye, settle that between you — settle that 
 between you. 
 
 Abs. A wife, Sir, did you say? 
 
 Sir Anth. Aye, a wife — why ; did not I mention her before ? 
 
 Abs. Not a word of it, Sir. 
 
 Sir Anth. Odd so! — I mus'n't forget her tho'. — Yes, 
 Jack, the independence I was talking of is by a marriage — 
 the fortune is saddled with a wife — but I suppose that makes 
 no difference. 
 
 Abs. Sir ! Sir ! — you amaze me ! 
 
 Sir Anth. Why, what the d — l's the matter with the fool? 
 Just now you were all gratitude and duty. 
 
 Abs. I was, Sir — you talked to me of independence and a 
 fortune, but not a word of a wife. 
 
 Sir Anth. Why — what difference does that make ? Odds 
 life, Sir ! if you have the estate, you must take it with the live 
 stock on it, as it stands. 
 
 Abs. If my happiness is to be the price, I must beg leave to 
 decline the purchase. — Pray, Sir, who is the lady? 
 
 Sir Anth. What's that to you, Sir ? — Come, give me your 
 promise to love, and to marry her directly. 
 
34 THE RIVALS 
 
 Abs. Sure, Sir, this is not very reasonable, to summon my 
 affections for a lady I know nothing of ! 
 
 Sir Anth. I am sure, Sir, 'tis more unreasonable in you 
 to object to a lady you know nothing of. 
 
 Abs. Then, Sir, I must tell you plainly that my inclinations 
 are fiVd on another. 
 
 « Sir Anth. They are, are they ? Well that's lucky — be- 
 cause you will have more merit in your obedience to me. 
 
 « Abs. Sir,» my heart is engaged to an Angel. 
 
 Sir Anth. Then pray let it send an excuse. It is very 
 sorry — but business prevents its waiting on her. 
 
 Abs. But my vows are pledged to her. 
 
 Sir Anth. Let her foreclose, Jack ; let her foreclose ; they 
 are not worth redeeming: besides, you have the Angel's 
 vows in exchange, I suppose; so there can be no loss there. 
 
 Abs. You must excuse me, Sir, if I tell you, once for all, 
 that in this point I cannot obey you. 
 
 Sir Anth. Hark'ee, Jack ; — I have heard you for some 
 time with patience — I have been cool — quite cool ; but take 
 care — you know I am compliance itself — when I am not 
 thwarted ; — no one more easily led — when I have my own 
 way ; — but don't put me in a frenzy. 
 
 Abs. Sir, I must repeat — in this I cannot obey you. 
 
 Sir Anth. Now d — n me ! if ever I call you Jack again 
 while I live ! 
 
 Abs. Nay, Sir, but hear me. 
 
 Sir Anth. Sir, I won't hear a word — not a word ! not one 
 word ! so give me your promise by a nod — and I'll tell you 
 what, Jack — I mean, you Dog — if you don't by 
 
 Abs. What, Sir, promise to link myself to some mass of 
 ugliness! to 
 
THE RIVALS 35 
 
 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'll make you ogle her all day, and sit up all night to write 
 sonnets on her beauty. 
 
 Abs. This is reason and moderation indeed ! 
 
 Sir Anth. None of your sneering, puppy ! no grinning, 
 jackanapes ! 
 
 Abs. Indeed, Sir, I never was in a worse humour for mirth 
 in my life. 
 
 Sir Anth. 'Tis false, Sir ! I know you are laughing in your 
 sleeve : I know you will grin when I am gone, sirrah ! 
 
 Abs. Sir, I hope I know my duty better. 
 
 Sir Anth. None of your passion, Sir ! none of your violence 
 if you please ! — It won't do with me, I promise you. 
 
 Abs. Indeed, Sir, I never was cooler in my life. 
 
 Sir Anth. 'Tis a confounded lie ! — I know you are in a 
 passion in your heart; I know you are, you hypocritical 
 young dog! but it won't do. 
 
 Abs. Nay, Sir, upon my word. 
 
 Sir Anth. So you will fly out ! can't you be cool, like me? 
 What the devil good can Passion do ? — Passion is of no ser- 
 vice, you impudent, insolent, overbearing Reprobate! — 
 There, you sneer again ! don't provoke me ! — but you rely 
 upon the mildness of my temper — you do, you Dog ! you 
 play upon the weakness of my disposition ! — Yet take care — 
 the patience of a saint may be overcome at last ! — but mark ! 
 I give you six hours and a half to consider of this : if you then 
 agree, without any condition, to do everything on earth that I 
 
36 THE RIVALS 
 
 choose, why — confound you ! I may in time forgive you. — -If 
 not, z — ds ! don't enter the same hemisphere with me ! don't 
 dare to breathe the same air, or use the same light with me ; 
 but get an atmosphere and a sun of your own ! I'll strip you 
 of your commission; I'll lodge a five-and-threepence in the 
 hands of trustees, and you shall live on the interest. — I'll 
 disown you, I'll disinherit you, I'll unget you ! and d — n me, 
 if ever I call you Jack again ! [Exit Sir Anthony. 
 
 Absolute solus 
 
 Abs. Mild, gentle, considerate father — I kiss your hands ! 
 — What a tender method of giving his opinion in these matters 
 Sir Anthony has ! I dare not trust him with the truth. — I 
 wonder what old wealthy Hag it is that he wants to bestow on 
 me ! — Yet he married himself for love ! and was in his youth 
 a bold Intriguer, and a gay Companion ! 
 
 Enter Fag 
 
 Fag. Assuredly, Sir, our Father is wrath to a degree ; he 
 comes down stairs eight or ten steps at a time — muttering, 
 growling, and thumping the bannisters all the way : I, and the 
 Cook's dog stand bowing at the door — rap ! he gives me a 
 stroke on the head with his cane ; bids me carry that to my 
 master, then kicking the poor Turnspit into the area, d — ns us 
 all, for a puppy triumvirate ! — Upon my credit, Sir, were I in 
 your place, and found my father such very bad company, I 
 should certainly drop his acquaintance. 
 
 Abs. Cease your impertinence, Sir, at present. — Did you 
 come in for nothing more ? — Stand out of the way ! 
 
 [Pushes him aside, and Exit. 
 
THE RIVALS 37 
 
 Fag, solus 
 
 Fag. Soh ! Sir Anthony trims my Master ; He is afraid to 
 reply to his Father — then vents his spleen on poor Fag ! — 
 When one is vexed by one person, to revenge one's self on 
 another, who happens to come in the way, is the vilest in- 
 justice ! 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 baul so ! — 
 The meanest disposition ! the 
 
 Boy. Quick, quick, Mr. Fag ! 
 
 Fag. Quick ! quick ! you impudent Jackanapes ! am I to 
 be commanded by you too ? you little impertinent, insolent, 
 kitchenbred [Exit, kicking and beating him. 
 
 Scene II. — The North Parade 
 
 Enter Lucy 
 
 Lucy. So — I shall have another Rival to add to my 
 mistress's list — Captain Absolute. However, I shall not 
 enter his name till my purse has received notice in form. 
 Poor Acres is dismissed ! — Well, I have done him a last 
 friendly office, in letting him know that Beverley was here 
 before him. — ■ Sir Lucius is generally more punctual, when he 
 expects to hear from his dear Dalia, as he calls her : I wonder 
 he's not here ! — I have a little scruple of conscience from this 
 deceit ; tho' I should not be paid so well, if my hero knew that 
 Delia was near fifty, and her own mistress. « — I could not 
 have thought he would have been so nice, when there's a 
 
38 THE RIVALS 
 
 golden egg in the case, as to care whether he has it from a 
 pullet or an old hen. » 
 
 Enter Sir Lucius O' Trigger 
 
 Sir Luc. Hah ! my little ambassadress — upon my con- 
 science, I have been looking for you; I have been on the 
 South Parade this half hour. 
 
 Lucy. [Speaking simply.] gemini ! and I have been 
 waiting for your worship here on the North. 
 
 Sir Luc. Faith ! — may be, that was the reason we did not 
 meet ; and it is very comical too, how you could go out and I 
 not see you — for I was only taking a nap at the Parade 
 Coffee-house, and I chose the window on purpose that I might 
 not miss you. 
 
 Lucy. My stars! Now I'd wager a sixpence I went by 
 while you were asleep. 
 
 Sir Luc. Sure enough it must have been so — and I never 
 dreamt it was so late, till I waked. Well, but my little girl, 
 have you got nothing for me? 
 
 Lucy. Yes, but I have : — I've got a letter for you in my 
 pocket. 
 
 Sir Luc. faith ! I guessed you weren't come empty- 
 handed. — Well — let me see what the dear creature says. 
 
 Lucy. There, Sir Lucius. [Gives him a letter. 
 
 Sir Luc. [Reads.] Sir — there is often a sudden incentive 
 impulse in love, that has a greater induction than years of 
 domestic combination : such was the commotion I felt at tfw first 
 superfluous view of Sir Lucius 0' Trigger. — Very pretty, upon 
 my word. — nAsmy motive is interested, you may be assured my 
 love shall never be miscellaneous. Very well. » 
 
 Female punctuation forbids me to say more ; yet let me add, 
 
THE RIVALS 30 
 
 that it will give me joy infallible to find Sir Lucius worthy the 
 last criterion of my affections. « Yours, while meretricious. — » 
 Delia. Upon my conscience ! Lucy, your lady is a great 
 mistress of language. — Faith, she's quite the queen of the 
 dictionary ! — for the devil a word dare refuse coming at her 
 call — though one would think it was quite out of hearing. 
 
 Lucy. Aye, Sir, a lady of her experience 
 
 Sir Luc. Experience! what, at seventeen? 
 
 Lucy. true, Sir — but then she reads so — my stars ! 
 how she will read off-hand ! 
 
 Sir Luc. Faith, she must be very deep read to write this 
 way — tho' she is rather an arbitrary writer too — for here 
 are a great many poor words pressed into the service of this 
 note, that would get their habeas corpus from any court in 
 Christendom. « — However, when affection guides the pen, 
 Lucy, he must be a brute who finds fault with the style.)) 
 
 Lucy. Ah ! Sir Lucius, if you were to hear how she talks of 
 you! 
 
 Sir Luc. Oh, tell her, I'll make her the best husband in the 
 world, and Lady OTrigger into the bargain ! — But we must 
 get the old gentlewoman's consent — and do everything fairly. 
 
 Lucy. Nay, Sir Lucius, I thought you wa'n't rich enough 
 to be so nice. 
 
 Sir Luc. Upon my word, young woman, you have hit it : — 
 I am so poor, that I can't afford to do a dirty action. — If I 
 did not want money, I'd steal your mistress and her fortune 
 with a great deal of pleasure. — However, my pretty girl, 
 [gives her money,] here's a little something to buy you a rib- 
 band ; and meet me in the evening, and I'll give you an answer 
 to this. So, hussy, take a kiss beforehand to put you in mind. 
 
 [Kisses her. 
 
40 THE RIVALS 
 
 Lucy. lud ! Sir Lucius — I never seed such a gemman ! 
 My lady won't like you if you're so impudent. 
 
 Sir Luc. Faith she will, Lucy! — That same — pho ! 
 what's the name of it ? — Modesty — is a quality in a lover 
 more praised by the women than liked ; so, if your mistress 
 asks you whether Sir Lucius ever gave you a kiss, tell her fifty 
 — my dear. 
 
 Lucy. What, would you have me tell her a lie? 
 
 Sir Luc. Ah, then, you baggage ! I'll make it a truth pres- 
 ently. 
 
 Lucy. For shame now ; here is some one coming. 
 
 Sir Luc. Oh, faith, I'll quiet your conscience ! 
 
 [Sees Fag. — Exit, humming a tune. 
 
 Enter Fag 
 
 Fag. So, so, Ma'am ! I humbly beg pardon. 
 
 Lucy. lud ! now, Mr. Fag, you flurry one so. 
 
 Fag. Come, come, Lucy, here's no one bye — so a little less 
 simplicity, with a grain or two more sincerity, if you please. — • 
 You play false with us, Madam. — I saw you give the baronet 
 a letter. — My master shall know this — and if he don't call 
 him out, I will. 
 
 Lucy. Ha! ha! ha! you gentlemen's gentlemen are so 
 hasty. — That letter was from Mrs. Malaprop, simpleton. — 
 She is taken with Sir Lucius's address. 
 
 Fag. What tastes some people have ! — Whjr, I suppose I 
 have walked by her window an hundred times. — But what 
 says our young lady? any message to my master? 
 
 Lucy. Sad news. Mr. Fag. — A worse Rival than Acres ! 
 Sir Anthony Absolute has proposed his son. 
 
 Fag. What, Captain Absolute? 
 
THE RIVALS 41 
 
 Lucy. Even so — I overheard it all. 
 
 Fag. Ha ! ha ! ha ! very good, faith. Good bye, Lucy, I 
 must away with this news. 
 
 Lucy. Well, . . . you may laugh . . . but it is true, I 
 assure you. — [Going.] But . . . Mr. Fag. . . tell your 
 master not to be cast down by this. 
 
 Fag. he'll be so disconsolate ! 
 
 Lucy. And charge him not to think of quarrelling with 
 young Absolute. 
 
 Fag. Never fear ! . . . never fear ! 
 
 Lucy. Be sure . . . bid him keep up his spirits. 
 
 Fag. We will ... we will. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 END OF THE SECOND ACT 
 
 ACT III 
 
 Scene I. — The North Parade 
 Enter Absolute 
 'Tis just as Fag told me, indeed . . . Whimsical enough, 
 faith ! My Father wants to force me to marry the very girl I 
 am plotting to run away with ! — He must not know of my 
 connection with her yet a-while. — He has too summary a 
 method of proceeding in these matters . . . « and Lydia shall 
 not yet lose her hopes of an elopement.)) — However, I'll read 
 my recantation instantly. — My conversion is something sud- 
 den, indeed . . . but I can assure him it is very sincere. So, 
 so . . . here he comes. He looks plaguy gruff. [Steps aside. 
 
 Enter Sir Anthony 
 No . . . I'll die sooner than forgive him . . . Die, did I 
 say ! I'll live these fifty years to plague him. — At our last 
 
42 THE RIVALS 
 
 meeting, his impudence had almost put me out of temper . . . 
 An obstinate, passionate, self-willed boy! . . . Who can he 
 take after? This is my return for getting him before all his 
 brothers and sisters! ... for putting him at twelve years 
 old, into a marching regiment, and allowing him fifty pounds 
 a year, beside his pay, ever since ! . . . But I have done with 
 him ; . . . he's anybody's son for me. — I never will see him 
 more, never . . . never . . . never . . . never. 
 
 Abs. Now for a penitential face. 
 
 Sir Anth. Fellow, get out of my way. 
 
 Abs. Sir, you see a penitent before you. 
 
 Sir Anth. I see an impudent scoundrel before me. 
 
 Abs. A sincere penitent. — I am come, Sir, to acknowledge 
 my error, and to submit entirely to your will. 
 
 Sir Anth. What's that? 
 
 Abs. I have been revolving, and reflecting, and consider- 
 ing on your past goodness, and kindness, and condescension 
 to me. 
 
 Sir Anth. Well, sir? 
 
 Abs. I have been likewise weighing and balancing what you 
 were pleased to mention concerning duty, and obedience, and 
 authority. 
 
 Sir Anth. Well, Puppy? 
 
 Abs. Why then, Sir, the result of my reflections is ... a 
 resolution to sacrifice every inclination of my own to your 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Sir Anth. Why now you talk sense . . . absolute sense 
 ... I never heard anything more sensible in my life . . . 
 Confound you ; you shall be Jack again. 
 
 Abs. I am happy in the appellation. 
 
 Sir Anth. Why, then, Jack, my dear Jack, I will now 
 
THE RIVALS 43 
 
 inform you . . . who the lady really is. — Nothing but your 
 passion and violence, you silly fellow, prevented my telling 
 you at first. Prepare, Jack, for wonder and rapture — 
 prepare — What think you of Miss Lydia Languish ? 
 
 Abs. Languish ! What, the Languishes of Worcestershire ? 
 
 Sir Anth. Worcestershire ! no. Did you never meet Mrs. 
 Malaprop and her Niece, Miss Languish, who came into our 
 country just before you were last ordered to your regiment? 
 
 Abs. Malaprop! Languish! I don't remember ever to 
 have heard the names before. Yet, stay — I think I do 
 recollect something. — Languish ! Languish ! She squints, 
 don't she? — A little, red-haired girl? 
 
 Sir Anth. Squints? — A red-haired girl ! — Z — ds ! no. 
 
 Abs. Then I must have forgot; it can't be the same 
 person. 
 
 Sir Anth. Jack ! Jack ! what think you of blooming, love- 
 breathing seventeen? 
 
 Abs. As to that, Sir, I am quite indifferent. — If I can 
 please you in the matter, 'tis all I desire. 
 
 Sir Anth. Nay, but Jack, such eyes ! such eyes ! so inno- 
 cently wild ! so bashfully irresolute ! not a glance but speaks 
 and kindles some thought of love ! Then, Jack, her cheeks ! 
 her cheeks, Jack! so deeply blushing at the insinuations of 
 her tell-tale eyes ! Then, Jack, her lips ! — O, Jack; lips 
 smiling at their own discretion; and if not smiling, more 
 sweetly pouting ; more lovely in sullenness. 
 
 Abs. That's she, indeed. . . . Well done, old gentleman. 
 
 Sir Anth. Then, Jack, her neck ! — O Jack ! Jack ! 
 
 Abs. And which is to be mine, Sir ; the Niece or the Aunt ? 
 
 Sir Anth. Why, you unfeeling, insensible Puppy, I despise 
 you ! When I was of your age, such a description would have 
 
44 THE RIVALS 
 
 made me fly like a rocket ! The Aunt, indeed ! Odds life ! 
 when I ran away with your mother, I would not have touched 
 anything old or ugly to gain an empire. 
 
 Abs. Not to please your father, sir ? 
 
 Sir Anth. To please my father ! z — ds ! not to please — 
 Oh, my father — odds so ! — yes — yes ; if my father indeed ' 
 had desired — that's quite another matter. Tho' he wa'n't 
 the indulgent father that I am, Jack. 
 
 Abs. I dare say not, Sir. 
 
 Sir Anth. But, Jack, you are not sorry to find your mis- 
 tress 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 hand- 
 some ; but, Sir, if you please to recollect, you before hinted 
 something about a hump or two, one eye, and a few more 
 graces of that kind — now, without being very nice, I own I 
 should rather chuse a wife of mine to have the usual number 
 of limbs, and a limited quantity of back ; and tho' one eye may 
 be very agreeable, yet as the prejudice has always run in 
 favour of two, I would not wish to affect a singularity in that 
 article. 
 
 Sir Anth. What a phlegmatic sot it is ! Why, sirrah, 
 you're an anchorite ! — a vile, insensible stock. You a 
 soldier ! — you're a walking block, fit only to dust the com- 
 pany 's regimentals on ! — Odds life ! I have a great mind to 
 marry the girl myself ! 
 
 Abs. I am entirely at your disposal, sir : if you should think 
 of addressing Miss Languish yourself, I suppose you would 
 have me marry the Aunt; or if you should change your mind, 
 and take the old lady — 'tis the same to me — I'll marry the 
 Niece. 
 
THE RIVALS 45 
 
 Sir Anth. Upon my word, Jack, thou'rt either a very great 
 hypocrite, or — but, come, I know your indifference on such 
 a subject must be all a lie — I'm sure it must — come, now — 
 d — n your demure face ! — come, confess Jack — you have 
 been lying, ha'n't you ! « You have been lying, hey? — I'll 
 never forgive you, if you ha'n't : — So now, own, my dear 
 Jack,» you have been playing the hypocrite, hey ! I'll never 
 forgive you, if you ha'n't been lying and playing the hypocrite. 
 
 Abs. I'm sorry, sir, that the respect and duty which I bear 
 to you should be so mistaken. 
 
 Sir Anth. Hang your respect and duty ! But come along 
 with me, I'll write a note to Mrs. Malaprop, and you shall 
 visit the lady directly. 
 
 «Abs. Where does she lodge, Sir? 
 
 « Sir Anth. What a dull question! Only on the Grove 
 here. 
 
 « Abs. ! then I can call on her in my way to the coffee- 
 house. 
 
 « Sir Anth. In your way to the coffee-house ! You'll set 
 your heart down in your way to the coffee-house, hey? Ah ! 
 you leaden-nerv'd, wooden-hearted dolt! But come along, 
 you shall see her directly ;» her eyes shall be the Promethean 
 torch to you — come along, I'll never forgive you, if you don't 
 come back, stark mad with rapture and impatience — if you 
 don't, egad, I'll marry the girl myself ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — Julia's Dressing-room 
 
 Faulkland solus 
 
 Faulk. They told me Julia would return directly; I 
 wonder she is not yet come ! — How mean does this captious, 
 
46 THE RIVALS 
 
 unsatisfied temper of mine appear to my cooler judgment ! 
 Yet I know not that I indulge it in any other point : but on 
 this one subject, and to this one object, whom I think I love 
 beyond my life, I am ever ungenerously fretful, and madly 
 capricious ! I am conscious of it — yet I cannot correct my- 
 self ! What tender, honest joy sparkled in her eyes when we 
 met ! How delicate was the warmth of her expression ! — I 
 was ashamed to appear less happy — though I had come 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 impatient Faulkland counts 
 the moments of her stay. 
 
 Enter Julia 
 
 Jul. I had not hop'd to see you again so soon. 
 
 Faulk. Could I, Julia, be contented with my first welcome 
 — restrained as we were by the presence of a third person? 
 
 Jul. Faulkland, when your kindness can make me thus 
 happy, let me not think that I discovered more coolness in 
 your first salutation than my long-hoarded joy could have 
 presaged. 
 
 Faulk. 'Twas but your fancy, Julia. I was rejoiced to see 
 you — to see you in such health. Sure I had no cause for 
 coldness ? 
 
 Jul. Nay then, I see you have taken something ill. You 
 must not conceal from me what it is. 
 
 Faulk. Well, then — shall I own to you « — but you will 
 despise me, Julia — nay, I despise myself for it. — Yet I will 
 own» that my joy at hearing of your health and arrival here, 
 
THE RIVALS 47 
 
 by your neighbor Acres, was somewhat damped by his 
 dwelling much on the high spirits you had enjoyed in Devon- 
 shire — 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 con- 
 stancy : — The mutual tear that steals down the cheek of 
 parting lovers is a compact, that no smile shall live there till 
 they meet again. 
 
 Jul. Must I never cease to tax my Faulkland with this 
 teasing minute caprice? Can the idle reports of a silly boor 
 weigh in your breast against my tried affection ? 
 
 Faulk. They have no weight with me, Julia: No, no — I 
 am happy if you have been so — yet only say, that you did 
 not sing with mirth — say that you thought of Faulkland in 
 the dance. 
 
 Jul. I never can be happy in your absence. — If I wear a 
 countenance of content, it is to shew that my mind holds no 
 doubt of my Faulkland's truth. If I seemed sad, it were to 
 make malice triumph ; and say, that I fixed my heart on one 
 who left me to lament his roving, and my own credulity. — 
 Believe me, Faukland, I mean not to upbraid you, when I say, 
 that I have often dressed sorrow in smiles, lest my friends 
 should guess whose unkindness had caused my tears. 
 
 Faulk. You were ever all goodness to me. 0, I am a 
 brute, when I but admit a doubt of your true constancy ! 
 
 Jul. If ever, without such cause from you, as I will not 
 suppose possible, you find my affections veering but a point, 
 may I become a proverbial scoff for levity, and base ingrati- 
 tude. 
 
 Faulk. Ah! Julia, that last word is grating to me. I 
 would I had no title to your gratitude ! Search your heart, 
 
48 THE RIVALS 
 
 Julia ; perhaps what you have mistaken for Love, is but the 
 warm effusion of a too thankful heart. 
 
 Jul. For what quality must I love you? 
 
 Faulk. For no quality ! To regard me for any quality of 
 mind or understanding, were only to esteem me. And for 
 person — I have often wish'd myself deformed, to be con- 
 vinced that I owed no obligation there for any part of your 
 affection. 
 
 Jul. Where Nature has bestowed a shew of nice attention 
 in the features of a man, he should laugh at it, as misplaced. 
 I have seen men, who in this vain article perhaps might rank 
 above you ; but my heart has never asked my eyes if it were 
 so or not. 
 
 Faulk. Now this is not well from you, Julia — I despise 
 person in a man — yet if you loved me as I wish, though I 
 were an iEthiop, you'd think none so fair. 
 
 Jul. I see you are determined to be unkind ! The contract 
 which my poor father bound us in gives you more than a 
 lover's privilege. 
 
 Faulk. Again, Julia, you raise ideas that feed and justify 
 my doubts. I would not have been more free — no — I am 
 proud of my restraint. Yet — yet — perhaps your high 
 respect alone for this solemn compact has fettered your incli- 
 nations, which else had made a worthier choice. How shall 
 I be sure, had you remained unbound in thought and promise, 
 that I should still have been the object of your persevering love ? 
 
 Jul. Then try me now. Let us be free as strangers as to 
 what is past : — my heart will not feel more liberty ! 
 
 Faulk. There now ! so hasty, Julia ! so anxious to be free ! 
 If your love for me were fixed and ardent, you would not lose 
 your hold, even tho' I wish'd it ! 
 
THE RIVALS 49 
 
 Jul. Oh ! you torture me to the heart ! I cannot bear it. 
 
 Faulk. I do not mean to distress you. If I loved you less 
 I should never give you an uneasy moment. — But hear me. — 
 All my fretful doubts arise from this — Women are not used 
 to weigh, and separate the motives of their affections : — the 
 cold dictates of prudence, gratitude, or filial duty, may some- 
 times be mistaken for the pleadings of the heart. I would not 
 boast — yet let me say, that I have neither age, person, or 
 character, to found dislike on ; my fortune such as few ladies 
 could be charged with indiscretion in the match. Julia ! 
 when Love receives such countenance from Prudence, nice 
 minds will be suspicious of its birth. 
 
 Jul. I know not whither your insinuations would tend : — 
 but as they seem pressing to insult me, I will spare you the 
 regret of having done so. — I have given you no cause for 
 this ! [Exit in tears. 
 
 Faulk. In Tears ! stay, Julia : stay but for a moment. — 
 The door is fastened ! — Julia ! — my soul — but for one 
 moment ! — I hear her sobbing ! — 'Sdeath ! what a brute am 
 I to use her thus ! Yet stay ! Aye — she is coming now : — 
 how little resolution there is in women ! — how a few soft 
 words can turn them ! — No, faith, — she is not coming either ! 
 — Why, Julia — my love — say but that you forgive me — 
 come but to tell me that — now this is being too resentful. 
 Stay ! she is coming too — I thought she would — no steadi- 
 ness in anything ! her going away must have been a mere trick 
 then — she shaVt see that I was hurt by it. — I'll affect in- 
 difference — [Hums a tune; then listens.] No z — ds! she's 
 not coming ! — nor don't intend it, I suppose. — This is not 
 steadiness, but obstinacy! Yet I deserve it. — What, after so 
 long an absence to quarrel with her tenderness ! — 'twas bar- 
 
50 THE RIVALS 
 
 barous and unmanly ! — I should be ashamed to see her now. 
 
 — I'll wait till her just resentment is abated — and when I 
 distress her so again, may I lose her forever ! and be linked in- 
 stead to some antique virago, whose gnawing passions, and 
 long-hoarded spleen, shall make me curse my folly half the 
 day, and all the night. [Exit. 
 
 Scene III. — Mrs. Malaprop's Lodgings 
 
 Mrs. Malaprop and Captain Absolute 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Your being Sir Anthony's son, Captain, would 
 itself be a sufficient accommodation ; but from the ingenuity of 
 your appearance, I am convinced you deserve the character 
 here given of you. 
 
 Abs. Permit me to say, madam, that as I never yet have 
 had the pleasure of seeing Miss Languish, my principal induce- 
 ment in this affair at present is the honour of being allied 
 to Mrs. Malaprop; of whose intellectual accomplishments, 
 elegant manners, and unaffected learning, no tongue is silent. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Sir, you do me infinite honour ! I beg, Cap- 
 tain, you'll be seated. — [Sit] Ah ! few gentlemen, now a 
 days, know how to value the ineffectual qualities in a woman ! 
 
 — few think how a little knowledge become a gentlewoman. — 
 Men have no sense now but for the worthless flower, beauty ! 
 
 Abs. It is but too true, indeed, Ma'am ; — yet I fear our 
 ladies should share the blame — they think our admiration of 
 beauty so great, that knowledge in them would be superfluous. 
 Thus, like garden-trees, they seldom show fruits till time has 
 robb'd them of more specious blossom. — Few, like Mrs. 
 Malaprop and the Orange-tree, are rich in both at once ! 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Sir, you overpower me with good-breeding. — 
 
THE RIVALS 51 
 
 He is the very Pine-apple of politeness ! — You are not igno- 
 rant, Captain, that this giddy girl has somehow contrived to 
 fix her affections on a beggarly, strolling, eves-dropping ensign, 
 whom none of us have seen, and nobody knows anything of. 
 
 Abs. Oh, I have heard the silly affair before. — I'm not at 
 all prejudiced against her on that account. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. You are very good and very considerate, Cap- 
 tain. I am sure I have done everything in my power since I 
 exploded the affair ; long ago I laid my positive conjunction 
 on her, never to think on the fellow again ; — I have since 
 laid Sir Anthony's preposition before her ; but, I am sorry 
 to say, she seems resolved to decline every particle that I en- 
 join her. 
 
 Abs. It must be very distressing, indeed, Ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Oh ! it gives me the hydrostatics to such a de- 
 gree. — I thought she had persisted from corresponding with 
 him; but behold this very day, I have interceded another 
 letter from the fellow ! I believe I have it in my pocket. 
 
 Abs. Oh, the devil ! my last note. [Aside. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Ay, here it is. 
 
 Abs. Ay, my note indeed ! Oh, the little traitress Lucy. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. There, perhaps you may know the writing. 
 
 [Gives him the letter. 
 
 Abs. I think I have seen the hand before — yes, I certainly 
 must have seen this hand before : — 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Nay, but read it, Captain. 
 
 Abs. [Reads] "My soul's idol, my adored Lydia !" — Very 
 tender, indeed ! 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Tender! aye, and prophane too, o' my con- 
 science. 
 
52 THE RIVALS 
 
 Abs. [Reads] "I am excessively alarmed at the intelligence 
 you send me, the more so as my new rival" — 
 
 Mrs. Mal. That's you, sir. 
 
 Abs. " Has universally the character of being an accomplished 
 gentleman, and a man of honour." — Well, that's handsome 
 enough. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Oh, the fellow has some design in writing so. 
 
 Abs. That he had, I'll answer for him, Ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. But go on, Sir — you'll see presently. 
 
 Abs. "As for the old weather-beaten she-dragon who guards 
 you." — Who can he mean by that? 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Me, Sir ! — me I — he means me there — what 
 do you think now? — but go on a little further. 
 
 Abs. Impudent scoundrel! — "it shall go hard but I will 
 elude her vigilance, as I am told that the same ridiculous vanity, 
 which makes her dress up her coarse features, and deck her dull 
 chat with hard words which she don't understand" 
 
 Mrs. Mal. 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 ! save if I reprehend any thing 
 in this world, it is the use of my oracular tongue, and a nice 
 derangement of epitaphs ! 
 
 Abs. He deserves to be hang'd and quartered ! let me see 
 — "same ridiculous vanity" — 
 
 Mrs. Mal. You need not read it again, Sir. 
 
 Abs. I beg pardon, Ma'am — "does also lay her open to the 
 grossest deceptions from flattery and pretended admiration" — 
 an impudent coxcomb ! — "so that I have a scheme to see you 
 shortly with the old Harridan's consent, and even to make her 
 a go-between in our interviews" — Was ever such assurance ! 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Did you ever hear anything like it? — he'll 
 
THE RIVALS 53 
 
 elude my vigilance, will he ? — Yes, yes ! ha ! ha ! he's very 
 likely to enter these floors ; — we'll try who can plot best ! 
 
 Abs. Ha! ha! ha! a conceited puppy, ha! ha! ha! — 
 Well, but Mrs. Malaprop, as the girl seems so infatuated by 
 this fellow, suppose you were to wink at her corresponding 
 with him for a little time — let her even plot an elopement 
 with him — then do you connive at her escape — while /, just 
 in the nick, will have the fellow laid by the heels, and fairly 
 contrive to carry her off in his stead. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. I am delighted with the scheme ; never was 
 anything better perpetrated ! 
 
 Abs. But, pray, could not I see the lady for a few minutes 
 now? — I should like to try her temper a little. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Why, I don't know — I doubt she is not pre- 
 pared for a first visit of this kind. There is a decorum in 
 these matters. 
 
 Abs. Lord ! she won't mind me — only tell her 
 Beverley 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Sir ! 
 
 Abs. Gently, good tongue. [Aside. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. What did you say of Beverley? 
 
 Abs. Oh, I was going to propose that you should tell her, 
 by way of jest, that it was Beverley who was below ! she'd 
 come down fast enough then — ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Mrs. Mal. 'Twould be a trick she well deserves ; besides, 
 you know the fellow tells her he'll get my consent to see her — 
 ha ! ha ! Let him if he can, I say again. Lydia, come down 
 here ! — [Calling.] He'll make me a go-between in their inter- 
 views ! — ha ! ha ! ha ! Come down, I say, Lydia ! I don't 
 wonder at your laughing, ha ! ha! ha! his impudence is truly 
 ridiculous, 
 
54 THE RIVALS 
 
 Abs. Tis very ridiculous, upon my soul, Ma'am, ha ! ha ! 
 ha! 
 
 Mrs. Mal. The little hussy won't hear. Well, I'll go and 
 tell her at once who it is — she shall know that Captain Abso- 
 lute is come to wait on her. And I'll make her behave as 
 becomes a young woman. 
 
 Abs. As you please, Ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. For the present, captain, your servant. Ah ! 
 you've not done laughing yet, I see — elude my vigilance; yes, 
 yes; ha! ha! ha! [Exit. 
 
 Abs. Ha! ha! ha! one would think now that I might 
 throw off all disguise at once, and seize my prize with security ; 
 but such is Lydia's caprice, that to undeceive her were 
 probably to lose her. I'll see whether she knows me. 
 
 [Walks aside, and seems engaged in looking at the pictures. 
 
 Enter Lydia 
 
 Lyd. What a scene am I now to go through ! surely nothing 
 can be more dreadful than to be obliged to listen to the loath- 
 some addresses of a stranger to one's heart. I have heard of 
 girls persecuted as I am, who have appealed in behalf of their 
 favoured lover to the generosity of his rival : suppose I were 
 to try it — there stands the hated rival — an officer too ! — 
 but 0, how unlike my Beverley ! I wonder he don't begin — 
 truly he seems a very negligent wooer ! — quite at his ease, 
 upon my word ! — I'll speak first — Mr. Absolute. 
 
 Abs. Madam. [Turns round. 
 
 Lyd. Heav'ns ! Beverley ! 
 
 Abs. Hush ! — hush, my life ! softly ! be not surprised ! 
 
 Lyd. I am so astonished ! and so terrified ! and so overjoy'd 
 — for Heav'n's sake ! how came you here ? 
 
THE RIVALS 55 
 
 Abb. Briefly, I have deceived your Aunt — I was informed 
 that my new rival was to visit here this evening, and contriv- 
 ing to have him kept away, have passed myself on her for 
 Capt. Absolute. 
 
 Lyd. 0, charming! And she really takes you for young 
 Absolute. 
 
 Abs. 0, she's convinced of it. 
 
 Lyd. Ha ! ha ! ha ! I can't forbear laughing to think how 
 her sagacity is overreached ! 
 
 Abs. But we trifle with our precious moments — such 
 another opportunity may not occur ; then let me conjure my 
 kind, my condescending angel, to fix the time when I may 
 rescue her from undeserved persecution, and with a licensed 
 warmth plead for my reward. 
 
 Lyd. Will you then, Beverley, consent to forfeit that por- 
 tion of my paltry wealth? — that burden on the wings of 
 love? 
 
 Abs. Oh, come to me — rich only thus — in loveliness ! 
 Bring no portion to me but thy love — 'twill be generous in 
 you, Lydia, — for well you know it is the only dower your 
 poor Beverley can repay. 
 
 Lyd. How persuasive are his words ! — how charming will 
 poverty be with him ! 
 
 Abs. Ah ! my soul, what a fife will we then live ! Love 
 shall be our idol and support ! we will worship him with a 
 monastic strictness ; abjuring all worldly toys, to center every 
 thought and action there. — Proud of calamity, we will enjoy 
 the wreck of wealth ; while the surrounding gloom of adversity 
 shall make the flame of our pure love show doubly bright. By 
 Heav'ns! I would fling all goods of fortune from me with 
 a prodigal hand, to enjoy the scene where I might clasp my 
 
56 THE RIVALS 
 
 Lydia to my bosom, and say, the world affords no smile to me 
 
 — but here — [Embracing her.] If she holds out now, the 
 devil is in it ! [Aside. 
 
 Lyd. Now could I fly with him to the Antipodes ! but my 
 persecution is not yet come to a crisis. [Aside. 
 
 Re-enter Mrs. Malaprop, listening 
 
 Mrs. Mal. I am impatient to know how the little huzzy 
 deports herself. [Aside. 
 
 Abs. So pensive, Lydia ! — is then your warmth abated ? 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Warmth abated ! — so ! — she has been in a 
 passion, I suppose. [Aside. 
 
 Lyd. No — nor ever can while I have life. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. An ill-temper'd 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. Mal. Very dutiful, upon my word ! [Aside. 
 
 Lyd. Let her choice be Capt. Absolute, but Beverley is 
 mine. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. I am astonished at her assurance ! — to his face 
 
 — this to his face ! [Aside. 
 Abs. Thus then let me enforce my suit. [Kneeling. 
 Mrs. Mal. [Aside] Aye, poor young man ! — down on his 
 
 knees entreating for pity ! — I can contain no longer. — Why, 
 huzzy ! huzzy ! — I have overheard you. 
 
 Abs. Oh, confound her vigilance ! [Aside. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Capt. Absolute, — I know not how to apologize 
 for her shocking rudeness. 
 
 Abs. [Aside] So — all's safe, I find. — [Aside] I have 
 hopes, Madam, that time will bring the young lady 
 
THE RIVALS 57 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Oh, there's nothing to be hoped for from her ! 
 she's as headstrong as an allegory on the banks of Nile. 
 
 Lyd. Nay, Madam, what do you charge me with now ? 
 
 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. Mal. Good Heav'ns ! what assurance ! — Lydia, 
 Lydia, you ought to know that lying don't become a young 
 woman ! — Didn't you boast that Beverley, that stroller 
 Beverley, possessed your heart ? — Tell me that, I say. 
 
 Lyd. 'Tis true, Ma'am, and none but Beverley 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Hold ; — hold, Assurance ! you shall not be so 
 rude. 
 
 Abs. Nay, pray, Mrs. Malaprop, don't stop the young 
 lady's speech : she's very welcome to talk thus — it does not 
 hurt me in the least, I assure you. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. You are too good, captain — too amiably 
 patient — but come with me, Miss. — Let us see you again 
 soon, Captain — remember what we have fixed. 
 
 Abs. I shall, Ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Come, take a graceful leave of the gentleman. 
 
 Lyd. May every blessing wait on my Beverley, my lov'd 
 Bev 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Huzzy ! I'll choke the word in your throat ! — 
 come along — come along. 
 
 [Exeunt severally; Captain Absolute kissing his hand to 
 Lydia — Mrs. Malaprop stopping her from speaking.] 
 
58 THE RIVALS 
 
 Scene IV. — Acres' Lodgings 
 
 Acres and David 
 
 Acres, as just dress'd 
 
 Acres. Indeed, David — do you think I become it so ? 
 
 Dav. You are quite another creature, believe me, Master, 
 by the Mass ! an' we've any luck we shall see the Devon mon- 
 keyrony in all the print-shops in Bath ! 
 
 Acres. Dress does make a difference, David. 
 
 Dav. Tis all in all, I think — difference ! why, an' you 
 were to go now to Clod Hall, I am certain the old lady wouldn't 
 know you : Master Butler wouldn't believe his own eyes, and 
 Mrs. Pickle would cry, "Lard presarve me!" our dairy-maid 
 would come giggling to the door, and 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. Aye, David, there's nothing like polishing. 
 
 Dav. So I says of your Honour's boots ; but the boy never 
 heeds me ! 
 
 Acres. But, David, has Mr. De-la-Grace been here? I 
 must rub up my balancing, and chasing, and boring. 
 
 Dav. I'll call again, Sir. 
 
 Acres. Do — and see if there are any letters for me at the 
 post-office. 
 
 Dav. I will. — By the Mass, I can't help looking at your 
 head ! — if I hadn't been by at the cooking, I wish I may die 
 if I should have known the dish again myself. [Exit. 
 
 [Acres comes forward, practising a dancing step.] Acres. 
 
THE RIVALS 59 
 
 Sink, slide — coupee. — Confound the first inventors of 
 cotillons ! say I — they are as bad as algebra to us country 
 gentlemen. — I can walk a Minuet easy enough when I am 
 forced ! — and I have been accounted a good stick in a Coun- 
 try-dance. — Odds jigs and tabors ! I never valued your 
 cross-over two couple — figure in — right and left — and I'd 
 foot it with e'er a captain in the county ! — but these out- 
 landish 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 ! 
 — d — n me ! my feet don't like to be called Paws ! no, 'tis 
 certain I have most Antigallican Toes ! 
 
 Enter Servant 
 
 Serv. Here is Sir Lucius O'Trigger to wait on you, Sir. 
 Acres. Show him in. 
 
 Enter Sir Lucius 
 
 Sir Luc. Mr. Acres, I am delighted to embrace you. 
 
 Acres. My dear Sir Lucius, I kiss your hands. 
 
 Sir Luc. Pray, my friend, what has brought you so sud- 
 denly to Bath? 
 
 Acres. Faith! I have followed Cupid's Jack-a-lantern , 
 and find myself in a quagmire at last. — In short, I have 
 been very ill used, Sir Lucius. — I don't choose to mention 
 names, but look on me as on a very ill-used gentleman. 
 
 Sir Luc. Pray what is the case ? — I ask no names. 
 
 Acres. Mark me, Sir Lucius, I falls as deep as need be in 
 love with a young lady — her friends take my part — I follow 
 her to Bath — send word of my arrival ; and receive answer, 
 
60 THE RIVALS 
 
 that the lady is to be otherwise disposed of. — This, Sir 
 Lucius, I call being ill-used. 
 
 Sir Luc. Very ill, upon my conscience. — Pray, can you 
 divine the cause of it? 
 
 Acres. Why, there's the matter ; she has another lover, 
 one Beverley, who, I am told, is now in Bath. — Odds slander 
 and lies ! he must be at the bottom of it. 
 
 Sir Luc. A rival in the case, is there ? — and you think he 
 has supplanted you unfairly ? 
 
 Acres. Unfairly! to be sure he has. — He never could 
 have done it fairly. 
 
 Sir Luc. Then sure you know what is to be done ! 
 
 Acres. Not I, upon my soul ! 
 
 Sir Luc. We wear no swords here, but you understand 
 me. 
 
 Acres. What! fight liim. 
 
 Sir Luc. Aye, to be sure : what can I mean else? 
 
 Acres. But he has given me no provocation. 
 
 Sir Luc. Now, I think he has given you the greatest 
 provocation in the world. — Can a man commit a more hei- 
 nous offence against another than to fall in love with the same 
 woman? O, by my soul ! it is the most unpardonable breach 
 of friendship. 
 
 Acres. Breach of friendship ! aye, aye ; but I have no 
 acquaintance with this man. I never saw him in my life. 
 
 Sir Luc. That's no argument at all — he has the less 
 right then to take such a liberty. 
 
 Acres. 'Gad, that's true — I grow full of anger, Sir 
 Lucius ! — I fire apace ! Odds hilts and blades ! I find a 
 man may have a deal of valour in him, and not know it! 
 But couldn't I contrive to have a little right of my side ? 
 
Joseph Jefferson and William J. Florence as Boh Acres and 
 Sir Lucius 0' Trigger 
 
THE RIVALS 61 
 
 Sir Luc. What the d — 1 signifies right, when your honour is 
 concerned ? Do you think Achilles, or my little Alexander tlie 
 Great, ever inquired where the right lay? No, by my soul, 
 they drew their broad-swords, and left the lazy sons of peace 
 to settle the justice of it. 
 
 Acres. Your words are a grenadier's march to my heart ! 
 I believe courage must be catching ! — I certainly do feel a 
 kind of valour rising as it were — a kind of courage, as I 
 may say. — Odds flints, pans, and triggers ! I'll challenge 
 him directly. 
 
 Sir Luc. Ah, my little friend, if I had Blunderbuss Hall 
 here, I could show you a range of ancestry, in the old OTrigger 
 line, that would furnish the new room ; every one of whom had 
 killed his man ! — For though the mansion-house and dirty 
 acres have slipt through my fingers, I thank God our honour 
 and the family-pictures are as fresh as ever. 
 
 Acres. 0, Sir Lucius ! I have had ancestors too ! — every 
 man of 'em colonel or Captain in the militia ! — Odds balls 
 and barrels ! say no more — I'm brac'd for it — « my nerves 
 are become catgut ! my sinews wire ! and my heart Pinch- 
 beck ! » The thunder of your words has soured the milk of 
 human kindness in my breast: — Z — ds! as the man in 
 the play says, "I could do such deeds !" 
 
 Sir Luc. Come, come, there must be no passion at all in 
 the case — these things should always be done civilly. 
 
 Acres. I must be in a passion, Sir Lucius — I must be in 
 a rage. — Dear Sir Lucius, let me be in a rage, if you love me. 
 Come, here's pen and paper. — [Sits down to write.] I would 
 the ink were red ! — Indite, I say, indite ! — How shall I 
 begin? Odds bullets and blades! I'll write a good bold 
 hand, however. 
 
62 THE RIVALS 
 
 Sir Luc. Pray compose yourself. 
 
 Acres. Come — now shall I begin with an oath? Do, 
 Sir Lucius, let me begin with a damme. 
 
 Sir Luc. Pho ! pho ! do the thing decently, and like a Chris- 
 tian . 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. Aye, there's the reason — u same lady" — Well 
 
 Sir Luc. "I shall expect the honour of your company " 
 
 Acres. Z — ds ! I'm not asking him to dinner. 
 
 Sir Luc. Pray be easy. 
 
 Acres. Well, then, "honour of your company." 
 
 Sir Luc. " To settle our pretensions." 
 
 Acres. Well. 
 
 Sir Luc. Let me see, aye, King's-Mead-jields will do — 
 "In King' 's-Meaa 1 fields." 
 
 Acres. So, that's done — Well, I'll fold it up presently ; 
 my own crest — a hand and dagger — shall be the seal. 
 
 Sir Luc. You see now this little explanation will put a stop 
 at once to all confusion or misunderstanding that might arise 
 between you. 
 
 Acres. Aye, we fight to prevent any misunderstanding. 
 
 Sir Luc. Now, I'll leave you to fix your own time. — Take 
 my advice, and you'll decide it this evening if you can ; then 
 let the worst come of it, 'twill be off your mind to-morrow. 
 
 Acres. Very true. 
 
 Sir Luc. So I shall see nothing of you, unless it be by 
 letter, till the evening. — I would do myself the honour to 
 
THE RIVALS 63 
 
 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 ex- 
 pence of my country, and I only want to fall in with the 
 gentleman, to call him out. 
 
 Acres. By my valour, I should like to see you fight first ! 
 Odds life ! I should like to see you kill him, if it was only to 
 get a little lesson. 
 
 Sir Luc. I shall be very proud of instructing you. — Well 
 for the present — but remember now, when you meet your 
 antagonist, do every thing in a mild and agreeable manner. — 
 Let your courage be as keen, but at the same time as polished 
 as your sword. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 END OF THE THIRD ACT 
 
 ACT IV 
 
 Scene I. — Acres' Lodgings 
 
 Acres and David 
 
 David. Then, by the Mass, Sir ! I would do no such thing 
 — ne'er a St. Lucius O'Trigger in the kingdom should make 
 me fight, when I wa'n't so minded. Oons! what will the 
 old lady say, when she hears o't? 
 
 Acres. Ah ! David, if you had heard Sir Lucius ! — Odds 
 sparks and flames ! he would have roused your valour. 
 
 David. Not he, indeed. I hates such bloodthirsty cormo- 
 rants. 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. 
 
64 THE RIVALS 
 
 Acres. But my honour, David, ray honour! I must be 
 very careful of my honour. 
 
 David. Aye, by the Mass ! and I would be very careful 
 of it ; and I think in return my honour couldn't do less than 
 to be very careful of me. 
 
 Acres. Odds blades ! David, no gentleman will ever risk 
 the loss of his honour ! 
 
 David. I say then, it would be but civil in honour never to 
 risk the loss of the gentleman. — Look'ee, Master, this honour 
 seems to me to be a marvellous false friend : aye, truly, a very 
 courtier-like servant. — Put the case, I was a gentleman 
 (which, thank God, no one can say of me ;) well — my 
 honour makes me quarrel with another gentleman of my 
 acquaintance. — So — we fight. (Pleasant enough that!) 
 Boh ; — I kill him — (the more's my luck !) now, pray who 
 gets the profit of it ? — Why, my honour. But put the case 
 that he kills me ! — by the Mass ! I go to the worms, and my 
 honour whips over to my enemy. 
 
 Acres. No, David — in that case ! — Odds crowns and 
 laurels ! your honour follows you to the grave. 
 
 David. Now, that's just the place where I could make a 
 shift to do without it. 
 
 Acres. Z — ds ! David, you are a coward ! — It doesn't 
 become my valour to listen to you. — What, shall I disgrace 
 my ancestors ? — Think of that, David — think what it would 
 be to disgrace my ancestors ! 
 
 David . Under favour, the surest way of not disgracing them , 
 is to keep as long as you can out of their company. Look'ee 
 now, Master, to go to them in such haste — with an ounce of 
 lead in your brains — I should think might as well be let alone. 
 Our ancestors are very **ood kind of folks ; but they are the 
 
THE RIVALS 65 
 
 last people I should choose to have a visiting acquaintance 
 with. 
 
 Acres. But, David, now, you don't think there is such 
 very, very, very great danger, hey? — Odds life! people 
 often fight without any mischief done ! 
 
 David. By the Mass, I think 'tis ten to one against you ! — 
 Oons! here to meet some lion-headed fellow, I warrant, 
 with his d — n'd double-barrelled swords, and cut-and-thrust 
 pistols ! Lord bless us ! it makes me tremble to think o't — 
 Those be such desperate bloody-minded weapons! Well, I 
 never could abide 'em! — from a child I never could fancy 
 'em ! — I suppose there an't so merciless a beast in the world 
 as your loaded pistol ! 
 
 Acres. Z — ds ! I won't be afraid ! — Odds fire and fury ! 
 you shan't make me afraid. — Here is the challenge, and I 
 have sent for my dear friend Jack Absolute to carry it for me. 
 
 David. Aye, i' the name of mi[s]chief, 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 mali- 
 cious-looking letter! and I warrant smells of gunpowder 
 like a soldier's pouch ! — Oons ! I wouldn't swear it mayn't 
 go off ! 
 
 Acres. Out, you poltroon! you han't the valour of a 
 grasshopper. 
 
 David. Well, I say no more — 'twill be sad news, to be 
 sure, at Clod Hall ! but I ha' done. How Phillis will howl 
 when she hears of it! — Aye, poor bitch, she little thinks 
 what shooting her Master's going after ! And I warrant old 
 Crop, who has carried your honour, field and road, these ten 
 years, will curse the hour he was born. [Whimpering. 
 
66 THE RIVALS 
 
 Acres. It won't do, David — I am determined to fight — 
 so get along, you Coward, while I'm in the mind. 
 
 Enter Servant 
 
 Ser. Captain Absolute, Sir. 
 
 Acres. ! show him up. [Exit Servant. 
 
 David. Well, Heaven send we be all alive this time to- 
 morrow. 
 
 Acres. What's that ! — Don't provoke me, David ! 
 
 David. Good-bye, Master. [Whimpering. 
 
 Acres. Get along, you cowardly, dastardly, croaking 
 raven ! [Exit David. 
 
 Enter Captain Absolute 
 
 Abs. What's the matter, Bob ? 
 
 Acres. A vile, sheep-hearted blockhead! If I hadn't 
 the valour of St. George and the dragon to boot 
 
 Abs. But what did you want with me, Bob? 
 
 Acres. Oh ! — There [Gives him the challenge. 
 
 Abs. To Ensign Beverley. — So — what's going on now? 
 [Aside] — [Aloud.] Well, what's this? 
 
 Acres. A challenge ! 
 
 Abs. Indeed ! Why, you won't fight him ; will you, Bob ? 
 
 Acres. 'Egad, but I will, Jack. Sir Lucius has wrought 
 me to it. He has left me full of rage — and I'll fight this 
 evening, that so much good passion mayn't be wasted. 
 
 Abs. But what have I to do with this ? 
 
 Acres. Why, as I think you know something of this fellow, 
 I want you to find him out for me, and give him this mortal 
 defiance. 
 
 Abs. Well, give it to me, and trust me he gets it. 
 
THE RIVALS 67 
 
 Acres. Thank you, my dear friend, my dear Jack ; but it is 
 giving you a great deal of trouble. 
 
 Abs. Not in the least — I beg you won't mention it. — No 
 trouble in the world, I assure you. 
 
 Acres. You are very kind. — What it is to have a friend ! 
 
 — You couldn't be my second, could you, Jack? 
 
 Abs. Why no, Bob — not in this affair — it would not be 
 quite so proper. 
 
 Acres. Well, then, I must fix on my friend Sir Lucius. 
 I shall have your good wishes, however, Jack? 
 
 Abs. Whenever he meets you, believe me. 
 
 Enter Servant 
 
 Ser. Sir Anthony Absolute is below, inquiring for the 
 Captain. 
 
 Abs. I'll come instantly. — Well, my little hero, success 
 attend you. [Going. 
 
 Acres. Stay — stay, Jack. — If Beverley should ask you 
 what kind of a man your friend Acres is, do tell him I am a 
 devil of a fellow — will you, Jack? 
 
 Abs. To be srire I shall. I'll say you are a determined dog 
 
 — hey, Bob ? 
 
 Acres. Aye, do, do — and if that frightens him, 'egad, 
 perhaps he mayn't come. So tell him I generally kill a man 
 a week; will you, Jack? 
 
 Abs. I will, I will ; I'll say you are called in the country 
 "Fighting Bob." 
 
 Acres. Right — right — 'tis all to prevent mischief ; 
 for I don't want to take his life if I clear my honour. 
 
 Abs. No ! — that's very kind of you. 
 
 Acres. Why, you don't wish me to kill him — do you, Jack ? 
 
68 THE RIVALS 
 
 Abs. No, upon my soul, I do not. But a devil of a fellow, 
 hey ? [Going. 
 
 Acres. True, true — but stay — stay Jack, — you may 
 add, that you never saw me in such a rage before — a most 
 devouring rage ! 
 
 Abs. I will, I will. 
 
 Acres. Remember, Jack — a determined dog ! 
 
 Abs. Aye, aye, "Fighting Bob!" [Exeunt severally. 
 
 Scene II. — Mrs. Malaprop's Lodgings 
 Mrs. Malaprop and Lydia 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Why, thou perverse one ! — tell me what you 
 can object to him? Isn't he a handsome man? — tell me 
 that. A genteel man? a pretty figure of a man ? 
 
 Lyd. [Aside] She little thinks wnom she is praising ! — 
 [Aloud.] So is Beverley, Ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. No caparisons, Miss, if you please. Capari- 
 sons don't become a young woman. No! Captain Abso- 
 lute is indeed a fine gentleman ! 
 
 Lyd. Aye, the Captain Absolute you have seen. [Aside. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Then he's so well bred ; — so full of alacrity, 
 and adulation ! — and has so much to say for himself : — in 
 such good language, too ! His physiognomy so grammatical ! 
 Then his presence is so noble ! I protest, when I saw him, I 
 thought of what Hamlet says in the play: — "Hesperian 
 curls — the front of Job himself ! — An eye, like March, to 
 threaten at command ! — A Station, like Harry Mercury, 
 new — " Something about kissing — on a hill — however, 
 the similitude struck me directly. 
 
 Lyd. How enraged she'll be presently, when she discovers 
 her mistake ! [Aside. 
 
THE RIVALS 69 
 
 Enter Servant 
 
 Ser. Sir Anthony, and Captain Absolute are below, 
 Ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Show them up here. — [Exit Serv.] Now, 
 Lydia, I insist on your behaving as becomes a young woman. 
 Shew your good breeding, at least, though you have forgot 
 your duty. 
 
 Lyd. Madam, I have told you my resolution ; — I shall 
 not only give him no encouragement, but I won't even speak 
 to, or look at him. 
 
 [Flings herself into a chair, with her face from the door. 
 
 Enter Sir Anthony and Absolute 
 
 Sir Anth. Here we are, Mrs. Malaprop; come to miti- 
 gate the frowns of unrelenting beauty, — and difficulty 
 enough I had to bring this fellow. — I don't know what's 
 the matter; but if I hadn't held him by force, he'd have 
 given me the slip. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. You have infinite trouble, Sir Anthony, in the 
 affair. I am ashamed for the cause ! Lydia, Lydia, rise, I 
 beseech you ! — pay your respects ! [Aside to her.] 
 
 Sir Anth. I hope, madam, that Miss Languish has re- 
 flected on the worth of this gentleman, and the regard due to 
 her aunt's choice, and my alliance. — Now, Jack, speak to 
 her ! [Aside to him.] 
 
 Abs. What the d — 1 shall I do ! [Aside.] — [Aside] You 
 see, Sir, she won't even look at me, whilst you are here. I 
 knew she wouldn't ! I told you so. Let me entreat you, Sir, 
 to leave us together ! 
 
 [Absolute seems to expostulate with his father. 
 
70 THE RIVALS 
 
 Lyd. [Aside.] I wonder I han't heard my Aunt exclaim 
 yet ! sure she can't have looked at him ! — perhaps their 
 regimentals are alike, and she is something blind. 
 
 Sir Anth. I say, Sir, I won't stir a foot yet ! 
 
 Mrs. Mal. I am sorry to say, Sir Anthony, that my 
 affluence over my Niece is very small. — Turn round, Lydia : 
 I blush for you ! [Aside to her.] 
 
 Sir Anth. May I not flatter myself that Miss Languish will 
 assign what cause of dislike she can have to my son ! — 
 Why don't you begin, Jack? — Speak, you puppy — speak ! 
 [Aside to him.] 
 
 Mrs. Mal. It is impossible, Sir Anthony, she can have 
 any. She will not say she has. — Answer, hussy ! why 
 don't you answer? [Aside to her.] 
 
 Sir Anth. Then, Madam, I trust that a childish and hasty 
 predilection will be no bar to Jack's happiness. — Z — ds ! 
 sirrah ! why don't you speak? [Aside to him.] 
 
 Ltd. [Aside.] I think my lover seems as little inclined 
 to conversation as myself. — How strangely blind my Aunt 
 must be ! 
 
 Abs. Hem ! hem ! Madam — hem ! — [Absolute at- 
 tempts to speak, then returns to Sir Anthony.] Faith! Sir, 
 I am so confounded ! — and — so — so — confused ! — I 
 told you I should be so, Sir — I knew it. — The — the — 
 tremor of my passion entirely takes away my presence of 
 mind. 
 
 Sir Anth. But it don't take away your voice, fool, does it ? 
 — Go up, and speak to her directly ! 
 
 [Absolute makes signs to Mrs. Mal. to leave them together. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Sir Anthony, shall we leave them together? — 
 Ah ! you stubborn, little vixen ! [Aside to her.] 
 
THE RIVALS 71 
 
 Sir Anth. Not yet, Ma'am, not yet ! — What the d — 1 are 
 
 you at? unlock your jaws, sirrah, or [Aside to him.] 
 
 [Absolute draws near Lydia.] 
 
 Abs. Now Heav'n send she may be too sullen to look 
 round ! — I must disguise my voice. — [Speaks in a low hoarse 
 tone.] Will not Miss Languish lend an ear to the mild ac- 
 cents of true love ? Will not 
 
 Sir Anth. What the d — 1 ails the fellow? why don't 
 you speak out? — not stand croaking like a frog in a 
 quinsey ! 
 
 Abs. The — the — excess of my awe, and my — my — 
 modesty quite choak me ! 
 
 Sir Anth. Ah ! your modesty again ! — I'll tell you what, 
 Jack, if you don't speak out directly, and glibly too, I shall be 
 in such a rage ! — Mrs. Malaprop, I wish the lady would 
 favour us with something more than a side-front. 
 
 [Mrs. Malaprop seems to chide Lydia. 
 
 Abs. So ! — all will out, I see ! — [Goes up to Lydia, speaks 
 softly.] Be not surprised, my Lydia, suppress all surprise at 
 present. 
 
 Lyd. [Aside.] Heav'ns! 'tis Beverley's voice! Sure 
 he can't have imposed on Sir Anthony too ! — [Looks round by 
 degrees, then starts up.] Is this possible ! — my Beverley ! — 
 how can this be ? — my Beverley ? 
 
 Abs. Ah ! 'tis all over. [Aside. 
 
 Sir Anth. Beverley ! — the devil — Beverley ! — What 
 can the girl mean? — this is my son, Jack Absolute. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. For shame, hussy ! for shame ! your head runs 
 so on that fellow, that you have him always in your eyes ! — 
 beg Captain Absolute's pardon directly. 
 
 Lyd. I see no Captain Absolute, but my love Beverley ! 
 
72 THE RIVALS 
 
 Sir Anth. Z — ds ! the girl's mad ! — her brain's turned by 
 reading. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. O' ray conscience, I believe so ! — What do you 
 mean by Beverley, hussey? — You saw Captain Absolute 
 before to-day ; there he is — your husband that shall be. 
 
 Lyd. With all my soul, Ma'am — when I refuse my 
 Beverley 
 
 Sir Anth. Oh! she's as mad as Bedlam! — or has this 
 fellow been playing us a rogue's trick ! — Come here, sirrah, 
 who the d — 1 are you ! 
 
 Abs. Faith, Sir, I am not quite clear myself ; but I'll en- 
 deavour to recollect. 
 
 Sir Anth. Are you my son or not? — answer for your 
 mother, you dog, if you won't for me. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Aye, Sir, who are you? O mercy! I begin 
 to suspect ! 
 
 Abs. Ye Powers of Impudence, befriend me ! — [Aside.] 
 Sir Anthony, most assuredly, I am your wife's son ; and that I 
 sincerely believe myself to be your's also, I hope my duty 
 has always shewn. — Mrs. Malaprop, I am your most re- 
 spectful admirer, and shall be proud to add affectionate nephew. 
 — I need not tell my Lydia, that she sees her faithful Bev- 
 erley, who, knowing the singular generosity of her temper, 
 assum'd that name, and a station, which has proved a test 
 of the most disinterested love, which he now hopes to enjoy 
 in a more elevated character. 
 
 Ltd. So ! — there will be no elopement after all ! [Sul- 
 lenly.] 
 
 Sir Anth. Upon my soul, Jack, thou art a very impudent 
 fellow ! to do you justice, I think I never saw a piece of more 
 consummate assurance ! 
 
THE RIVALS 73 
 
 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, insensible 
 varlet you pretended to be, however ! — I'm glad you have 
 made a fool of your father, you dog — I am. So this was 
 your penitence, your duty and obedience ! — I thought it was 
 d — n'd sudden ! — You never heard their names before, not 
 you! — what, Languishes of Worcestershire, hey? — if you 
 could please me in the affair, 'twas all you desired ! — Ah ! 
 you dissembling villain ! — What ! — [pointing to Lydia} 
 she squints don't she? — a little red-haired girl! — hey? — 
 Why, you hypocritical young rascal ! — I wonder you a'n't 
 ashamed to hold up your head ! 
 
 Abs. 'Tis with difficulty, Sir. — I am confus'd — very 
 much confus'd, as you must perceive. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Lud ! Sir Anthony ! — a new light breaks 
 in upon me ! — hey ! — how ! what ! Captain, did you write 
 the Letters then ? — What — I am to thank you for the 
 elegant compilation of ' an old weather-beaten she-dragon' 
 — hey? — mercy! — was it you that reflected on my 
 parts of speech ? 
 
 Abs. Dear Sir ! my modesty will be overpower 'd at last, 
 if you don't assist me. — I shall certainly not be able to 
 stand it ! 
 
 Sir Anth. Come, come, Mrs. Malaprop, we must for- 
 get and forgive ; — odds life ! matters have taken so clever 
 a turn all of a sudden, that I could find in my heart 
 to be so good-humoured! and so gallant! hey! Mrs. 
 Malaprop ! 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Well, Sir Anthony, since you desire it, we will 
 
74 THE RIVALS 
 
 not anticipate the past ; — so mind, young people — our 
 retrospection will be all to the future. 
 
 Sir Anth. Come, we must leave them together; Mrs. 
 Malaprop, they long to fly into each other's arms, I warrant ! 
 — Jack, isn't the cheek as I said, hey? — and the eye, you 
 dog? — and the lip — hey? Come, Mrs. Malaprop, we'll 
 not disturb their tenderness — theirs is the time of life for 
 happiness ! — " Youth's the season made for joy" — [Sings] — 
 hey ! — Odds life ! I'm in such spirits, — I don 't know what I 
 couldn't do ! — Permit me, Ma'am — [Gives his hand to 
 Mrs. Malaprop.] (Sings) Tol-de-rol — 'gad, I should 
 like to have a little fooling myself — Tol-de-rol ! de-rol ! 
 
 [Exit singing, and handing Mrs. Mal. 
 
 Lydia sits sxdlenly in her chair 
 
 Abs. So much thought bodes me no good. — [Aside.] So 
 grave, Lydia ! 
 
 Lyd. Sir! 
 
 Abs. So ! — egad ! I thought as much ! — that d — n'd 
 monosyllable has froze me ! — [Aside.] What, Lydia, now 
 that we are as happy in our friends consent, as in our mutual 
 
 Lyd. Friends consent, indeed ! [Peevishly. 
 
 Abs. Come, come, we must lay aside some of our romance 
 — a little wealth and comfort may be endur'd after all. And 
 for your fortune, the lawyers shall make such settlements 
 as 
 
 Lyd. Lawyers! I hate lawyers ! 
 
 Abs. Nay then, we will not wait for their lingering forms, 
 but instantly procure the licence, and 
 
 Lyd. The licence ! — I hate licence ! 
 
THE RIVALS 75 
 
 Abs. Oh my Love ! be not so unkind ! — thus let me in- 
 treat [Kneeling 
 
 Lyd. Pshaw! — what signifies kneeling, when you know 
 I must have you ? 
 
 Abs. [Rising.] Nay, Madam, there shall be no constraint 
 upon your inclinations, I promise you. — If I have lost your 
 heart — I resign the rest — 'Gad, I must try what a little 
 spirit will do. [Aside.] 
 
 Lyd. [Rising.] Then, Sir, let me tell you, the interest you 
 had there was acquired by a mean, unmanly imposition, 
 and deserves the punishment of fraud. — What, you have 
 been treating me like a child ! — humouring my romance ! 
 and laughing, I suppose, at your success ! 
 
 Abs. You wrong me, Lydia, you wrong me — only hear 
 
 Lyd. So, while / fondly imagined we were deceiving my 
 relations, and flatter'd myself that I should outwit and in- 
 cense them all — behold ! my hopes are to be crush'd at 
 once, by my Aunt's consent and approbation — and / am 
 myself the only dupe at last ! — [Walking about in heat.] 
 
 «Abs. Nay, but hear me 
 
 «Lyd. No, Sir, you could not think that such paltry arti- 
 fices could please me, when the mask was thrown off ! But 
 I suppose since your tricks have made you secure of my 
 fortune, you are little solicitous about my affections. — » 
 But here, Sir, here is the picture — Beverley's picture! 
 [taking a miniature from her bosom] which I have worn, night 
 and day, in spite of threats and entreaties! — There, Sir; 
 [flings it to him] and be assured I throw the original from 
 my heart as easily ! 
 
 Abs. Nay, nay, Ma'am, we will not differ as to that. — 
 
76 THE RIVALS 
 
 Here [taking out a picture] here is Miss Lydia Languish. — 
 What a difference! — aye, there is the heav'nly assenting 
 smile, that first gave soul and spirit to my hopes! — those 
 are the lips which seal'd a vow, as yet scarce dry in Cupid's 
 calendar! and there the half resentful blush, that would 
 have check'd the ardour of my thanks ! — Well, all that's 
 past ? — all over indeed ! — There, Madam — in beauty, 
 that copy is not equal to you, but in my mind it's merit over 
 the original, in being still the same, is such — that — I can- 
 not 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. 0, most certainly — sure, now this is much better 
 than being in love! — ha! ha! ha! — there's some spirit 
 in this ! — What signifies breaking some scores of solemn 
 promises, «half an hundred vows, under one's hand, with the 
 marks of a dozen or two angels to witness)) all that's of no 
 consequence, you know. To be sure people will say, that 
 Miss don't know her own mind — but never mind that : — 
 Or, perhaps, they may be ill-natured enough to hint, that 
 the gentleman grew tired of the lady and forsook her — but 
 don't let that fret you. 
 
 Lyd. There is no bearing his insolence. [Bursts into tears. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Malaprop and Sir Anthony 
 
 Mrs. Mal. [Entering.] Come, we must interrupt your 
 billing and cooing a while. 
 
 Lyd. This is worse than your treachery and deceit, you 
 base ingrate ! [Sobbing. 
 
 Sir Anth. What the devil's the matter now? — Z — ds! 
 Mrs. Malaprop, this is the oddest billing and cooing I ever 
 
THE RIVALS 77 
 
 heard ! — but what the deuce is the meaning of it ? — I am 
 quite astonished ! 
 
 Abs. Ask the lady, Sir. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. mercy ! — I'm quite analyzed for my part ! — 
 Why, Lydia, what is the reason of this ? 
 
 Lyd. Ask the gentleman, Ma'am. 
 
 Sir Anth. Z — ds ! I shall be in a phrenzy ! — Why, Jack, 
 you scoundrel, you are not come out to be any one else, are 
 you? 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Aye, Sir, there's no more trick, is there? — . 
 you are not like Cerberus, three Gentlemen at once, are you ? 
 
 Abs. You'll not let me speak — I say the lady can account 
 for this much better than I can. 
 
 Lyd. Ma'am, you once commanded me never to think of 
 Beverley again — there is the man — I now obey you : for, 
 from this moment, I renounce him for ever. [Exit Lydia. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. O mercy ! and miracles ! what a turn here is — 
 why, sure Captain, you haven't behaved disrespectfully to my 
 Niece ? 
 
 Sir Anth. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — ha ! ha ! ha ! — now I see it. 
 Ha! ha! ha! — now I see it — you have been too lively, 
 Jack. 
 
 Abs. Nay, sir, upon my word 
 
 Sir Anth. Come, no lying, Jack — I'm sure 'twas so. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Lud ! Sir Anthony ! — O fie, Captain ! 
 
 Abs. Upon my soul, Ma'am 
 
 Sir Anth. Come, no excuse, Jack; why, your father, 
 you rogue, was so before you ! — the blood of the Absolutes 
 was always impatient. — Ha! ha! ha! poor little Lydia! 
 why, you've frightened her, you Dog, you have. 
 
 Abs. By all that's good, sir 
 
78 THE RIVALS 
 
 Sir Anth. Z — ds ! say no more, I tell you. Mrs. Mala- 
 prop shall make your peace. You must make his peace, 
 Mrs. Malaprop : — you must tell her 'tis Jack's way — tell 
 her 'tis all our ways — it runs in the blood of our family! 
 Come, get on, Jack. Ha! ha! ha! — Mrs. Malaprop — 
 a young villain ! [Pushing him out. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. ! Sir Anthony ! — fie, Captain ! 
 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
 Scene III. — The North Parade 
 
 Enter Sir Lucius O'Trigger 
 
 Sir Luc. [I]wonder where this Capt. 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. Hah ! isn't this 
 the Captain coming ? — faith it is ! — There is a probability 
 of succeeding about that fellow, that is mighty provoking! 
 Who the devil is he talking to ? [Steps aside. 
 
 Enter Captain Absolute 
 Abs. To what fine purpose I have been plotting ! a noble 
 reward for all my schemes, upon my soul ! — a little gypsey ! — 
 I did not think her romance could have made her so d — n'd 
 absurd either. 'Sdeath, I never was in a worse humour in 
 my life ! — I could cut my own throat, or any other person's 
 with the greatest pleasure in the world ! 
 
THE RIVALS 79 
 
 Sir Luc. 0, faith, I'm in the luck of it. I never could 
 have found him in a sweeter temper for my purpose — to 
 be sure I'm just come in the nick! Now to enter into con- 
 versation with him, and so quarrel genteelly. — [Sir Lucius 
 goes up to Absolute. With regard to that matter, Captain, 
 I must beg leave to differ in opinion with you. 
 
 Abs. Upon my word, then, you must be a very subtle 
 disputant : — because, Sir, I happened just then to be giving 
 no opinion at all. 
 
 Sir Luc. That's no reason. For give me leave to tell you, 
 a man may think an untruth as well as speak one. 
 
 Abs. Very true, Sir ; but if a man never utters his thoughts, 
 I should think they might stand a chance of escaping contro- 
 versy. 
 
 Sir Luc. Then, sir, you differ in opinion with me, which 
 amounts to the same thing. 
 
 Abs. Hark'ee, Sir Lucius ; if I had not before known you 
 to be a gentleman, upon my soul, I should not have dis- 
 covered it at this interview : for what you can drive at, un- 
 less you mean to quarrel with me, I cannot conceive ! 
 
 Sir Luc. I humbly thank you, Sir, for the quickness of 
 your apprehension. — [Bowing.] — you have named the 
 very thing I would be at. 
 
 Abs. Very well, Sir; I shall certainly not baulk your 
 inclinations. — But I should be glad you would please to 
 explain your motives. 
 
 Sir Luc. Pray, Sir, be easy — the quarrel is a very pretty 
 quarrel as it stands — we should only spoil it, by trying to 
 explain it. — However, your memory is very short, or you 
 could not have forgot an affront you pass'd on me within 
 this week. So no more, but name your time and place. 
 
80 THE RIVALS 
 
 Abs. Well, Sir, since you are so bent on it, the sooner the 
 better ; let it be this evening — here, by the Spring Gardens. 
 — We shall scarcely be interrupted. 
 
 Sir Luc. Faith ! that same interruption in affairs of this 
 nature shows very great ill-breeding. I don't know what's 
 the reason, but in England, if a thing of this kind gets wind, 
 people make such a pother, that a gentleman can never fight 
 in peace and quietness. However, if it's the same to you, 
 Captain, I should take it as a particular kindness, if you'd let 
 us meet in King's-Mead-Fields, as a little business will call me 
 there about six o'clock, and I may despatch both matters at 
 once. 
 
 Abs. 'Tis the same to me exactly. A little after six, then 
 we will discuss this matter more seriously. 
 
 Sir Luc. If you please, Sir; there will be very pretty 
 small-sword light, though it won't do for a long shot. So 
 that matter's settled, and my mind's at ease ! [Exit. 
 
 Enter Faulkland meeting Absolute 
 
 Abs. Well met — I was going to look for you. Faulk- 
 land ! all the Daemons of spite and disappointment have con- 
 spired against me ! I'm so vex'd, that if I had not the pros- 
 pect of a resource in being knock'd o' the head by and bye, I 
 should scarce have spirits to tell you the cause. 
 
 Faulk. What can you mean ? — Has Lydia changed her 
 mind ? — I should have thought her duty and inclination 
 would now have pointed to the same object. 
 
 Abs. Aye, just as the eyes do of a person who squints : when 
 her love-eye was fixed on me, t'other, her eye of duty, was finely 
 obliqued : but when duty bid her point that the same way, off 
 t'other turned on a swivel, and secured its retreat with a frown ! 
 
THE RIVALS 81 
 
 Faulk. But what's the resource you 
 
 Abs. 0, to wind up the whole, ft good-natured Irishman 
 here has — [Mimicking Sir Lucius] beg'd leave to have the 
 pleasure of cutting my throat — and I mean to indulge him 
 
 — that's all. 
 
 Faulk. Prithee, be serious ! 
 
 Abs. 'Tis fact, upon my soul! Sir Lucius O'Trigger — 
 you know him by sight — for some affront, which I am sure I 
 never intended, has obliged me to meet him this evening at 
 six o'clock : 'tis on that account I wished to see you — you 
 must go with me. 
 
 Faulk. Nay, there must be some mistake, sure. — Sir 
 Lucius shall explain himself — and I dare say matters may be 
 accommodated : but this evening did you say ? I wish it 
 had been any other time. 
 
 Abs. Why ? there will be light enough : — there will (as 
 Sir Lucius says) "be very pretty small-sword light, tho' it 
 won't do for a long shot." Confound his long shots ! 
 
 Faulk. But I am myself a good deal ruffled by a difference 
 I have had with Julia — my vile tormenting temper has made 
 me treat her so cruelly, that I shall not be myself till we are 
 reconciled. 
 
 Abs. By Heav'ns ! Faulkland, you don't deserve her ! 
 
 Enter Servant, gives Faulkland a letter 
 
 Faulk. Oh, Jack ! this is from Julia — I dread to open it 
 
 — I fear it may be to take a last leave — perhaps to bid me 
 
 return her letters — and restore 0, how I suffer for my 
 
 folly! 
 
 Abs. Here, let me see. — [Takes the letter and opens it.] 
 Ay, a final sentence, indeed ! — 'tis all over with you, faith ! 
 
82 THE RIVALS 
 
 Faulk. Nay, Jack, don't keep me in suspense ! 
 
 Abs. Hear then — As "I am convinced that my dear Faulk- 
 land's own reflections have already upbraided him for his last 
 unkindness to me, I will not add a word on the subject. I wish 
 to speak with you as soon as possible. Your's ever and truly, 
 Julia." There's stubbornness and resentment for you!' — 
 [Gives him the letter.] Why, man, you don't seem one whit 
 happier at this ! 
 
 Faulk. yes, I am ; but — but 
 
 Abs. Confound your bids. — You never hear anything that 
 would make another man bless himself, but you immediately 
 d — n it with a but. 
 
 Faulk. Now, Jack, as you are my friend, own honestly — 
 don't you think there is something forward — something in- 
 delicate in this haste to forgive? Women should never sue 
 for reconciliation : that should always come from us. They 
 should retain their coldness till woo'd to kindness; and their 
 pardon, like their love, should "not unsought be won." 
 
 Abs. I have not patience to listen to you : — thou'rt incor- 
 rigible ! so say no more on the subject. — I must go to settle a 
 few matters. Let me see you before six — remember — at 
 my lodgings. — A poor industrious devil like me, who have 
 toil'd, and drudg'd, and plotted to gain my ends, and am at 
 last disappointed by other people's folly — may in pity be 
 allowed to swear and grumble a little ; — but a captious 
 sceptic in love — a slave to f retf ulness and whim — who has 
 no difficulties but of his own creating — is a subject more fit 
 for ridicule than compassion ! [Exit Absolute. 
 
 Faulk. I feel his reproaches! — yet I would not change 
 this too exquisite nicety for the gross content with which he 
 tramples on the thorns of love. — His engaging me in this 
 
THE RIVALS 83 
 
 duel, has started an idea in my head, which I will instantly 
 pursue. — I'll use it as the touchstone of Julia's sincerity 
 and disinterestedness — if her love prove pure and sterling 
 ore — my name will rest on it with honour ! and once I've 
 stamped it there, I lay aside my doubts for ever: — but if 
 the dross of selfishness, the allay of pride predominate, 'twill 
 be best to leave her as a toy for some less cautious Fool to 
 sigh for ! [Exit Faulkland. 
 
 END OF THE FOURTH ACT 
 
 [ ACT V 
 
 Scene I. — Julia's Dressing-Room 
 
 Julia, sola 
 How this message has alarmed me! what dreadful acci- 
 dent can he mean ! why such charge to be alone ? — Faulk- 
 land ! — how many unhappy moments ! — how many tears 
 have you cost me ! 
 
 Enter Faulkland, muffled up in a Riding-coat 
 
 Jul. What means this? — why this caution, Faulkland? 
 
 Faulk. Alas ! Julia, I am come to take a long farewell. 
 
 Jul. Heav'ns ! what do you mean ? 
 
 Faulk. You see before you a wretch, whose life is for- 
 feited. Nay, start not ! — the infirmity of my temper has 
 drawn all this misery on me. — I left you fretful and pas- 
 sionate — and 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 
 intirely, before this mischance had fallen on me, I should not 
 
84 THE RIVALS 
 
 so deeply dread my banishment ! « — But no more of that — 
 your heart and promise were given to one happy in friends, 
 character and station ! They are not bound to wait upon a 
 solitary, guilty exile. » 
 
 Jul. My soul is opprest with sorrow at the nature of your 
 misfortune: had these adverse circumstances arisen from a 
 less fatal cause I should have felt strong comfort in the thought 
 that I could now chase from your bosom every doubt of the 
 warm sincerity of my love. — My heart has long known no 
 other guardian — I now entrust my person to your honour — 
 we will fly together. — When safe from pursuit, my Father's 
 will may be fulfilled — and I receive a legal claim to be the 
 partner of your sorrows, and tenderest comforter. Then on 
 the bosom of your wedded Julia, you may lull your keen 
 regret to slumbering; while virtuous love, with a Cherub's 
 hand, shall smoothe the brow of upbraiding thought, and 
 pluck the thorn from compunction. 
 
 Faulk. Julia! I am bankrupt in gratitude! but the 
 time is so pressing, it calls on you for so hasty a resolution. — 
 Would you not wish some hours to weigh the advantages you 
 forego, and what little compensation poor Faulkland can 
 make you beside his solitary love ? 
 
 Jul. I ask not a moment. No, Faulkland, I have lov'd 
 you for yourself: and if I now, more than ever, prize the 
 solemn engagement which so long has pledged us to each 
 other, it is because it leaves no room for hard aspersions on 
 my fame, and puts the seal of duty to an act of love. — But 
 let us not linger. — Perhaps this delay 
 
 Faulk. 'Twill be better I should not venture out again till 
 dark. — Yet am I grieved to think what numberless distresses 
 will press heavy on your gentle disposition ! 
 
THE RIVALS 85 
 
 Jul. Perhaps your fortune may be forfeited by this un- 
 happy act. — I know not whether 'tis so ; but sure that 
 alone can never make us unhappy. The little I have will 
 be sufficient to support us; and exile never should be 
 splendid. 
 
 Faulk. Aye, but in such an abject state of life, my 
 wounded pride perhaps may increase the natural fretfulness 
 of my temper, till I become a rude, morose companion, be- 
 yond your patience to endure. Perhaps the recollection of a 
 deed, my conscience cannot justify, may haunt me in such 
 gloomy and unsocial fits, that I shall hate the tenderness that 
 would relieve me, break from your arms, and quarrel with 
 your fondness! 
 
 Jul. If your thoughts should assume so unhappy a bent, 
 you will the more want some mild and affectionate spirit to 
 watch over and console you ! one who can, by bearing your 
 infirmities with gentleness and resignation, may teach you so 
 to bear the evils of your fortune. 
 
 Faulk. Julia, I have proved you to the quick ! and with 
 this useless device I throw away all my doubts. How shall I 
 plead to be forgiven this last unworthy effect of my restless, 
 unsatisfied disposition ? 
 
 Jul. Has no such disaster happened as you related? 
 
 Faulk. I am ashamed to own that it was pretended; 
 yet in pity, Julia, do not kill me with resenting a fault which 
 never can be repeated: But sealing, this once, my pardon, 
 let me to-morrow, in the face of Heaven, receive my future 
 guide and monitress, and expiate my past folly, by years of 
 tender adoration. 
 
 Jul. Hold, Faulkland ! — that you are free from a crime, 
 which I before feared to name, Heaven knows how sincerely 
 
86 THE RIVALS 
 
 I rejoice! — These are tears of thankfulness for that! But 
 that your cruel doubts should have urged you to an imposi- 
 tion that has wrung my heart, gives me now a pang more 
 keen than I can express. 
 
 Faulk. By Heav'ns ! Julia 
 
 Jul. Yet hear me, — My Father loved you, Faulkland ! 
 and you preserv'd the life that tender parent gave me; in 
 his presence I pledged my hand — joyfully pledged it — where 
 before I had given my heart. When, soon after, I lost that 
 parent, it seemed to me that Providence had, in Faulkland, 
 shown me whither to transfer without a pause, my grateful 
 duty, as well as my affection : hence I have been content to 
 bear from you what pride and delicacy would have forbid 
 me from another. I will not upbraid you, by repeating how 
 you have trifled with my sincerity 
 
 Faulk. I confess it all ! yet hear 
 
 Jul. After such a year of trial — I might have flattered 
 myself that I should not have been insulted with a new 
 probation of my sincerity, as cruel as unnecessary! «A 
 trick of such a nature, as to shew me plainly, that when I 
 thought you lov'd me best, you even then regarded me as a 
 mean dissembler ; an artful, prudent hypocrite. 
 
 « Faulk. Never! never !» 
 
 Jul. I now see it is not in your nature to be content or 
 confident in love. With this conviction — I never will be 
 yours. While I had hopes that my persevering attention, 
 and unreproaching kindness might in time reform your 
 temper, I should have been happy to have gain'd a dearer in- 
 fluence 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. 
 
THE RIVALS 87 
 
 Faulk. Nay, but, Julia, by my soul and honour, if after 
 this 
 
 Jul. But one word more. — As my faith has once been 
 given to you, I never will barter it with another. — I shall 
 pray for your happiness with the truest sincerity; and the 
 dearest blessing I can ask of Heaven to send you, will be to 
 charm you from that unhappy temper, which alone has pre- 
 vented the performance of our solemn engagement. — All I 
 request of you is, that you will yourself reflect upon this in- 
 firmity, 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 follow'd you in 
 beggary through the world ! [Exit. 
 
 Faulk. She's gone ! — for ever ! — There was an awful 
 resolution in her manner, that ri vetted me to my place. — O 
 Fool! — Dolt! — Barbarian! Cursed as I am, with more 
 imperfections than my fellow-wretches, kind Fortune sent a 
 heaven-gifted cherub to my aid, and, like a ruffian, I have 
 driven her from my side ! — I must now haste to my appoint- 
 ment. Well my mind is tuned for such a scene. I shall 
 wish only to become a principal in it, and reverse the tale my 
 cursed folly put me upon forging here. — Love ! — Tor- 
 menter ! — Fiend ! — whose influence, like the Moon's, 
 acting on men of dull souls, makes idiots of them, but meet- 
 ing subtler spirits, betrays their course, and urges sensibility 
 to madness ! [Exit. 
 
 Enter Maid and Lydia 
 
 Maid. My Mistress, Ma'am, I know, was here just now — 
 
 perhaps she is only in the next room. [Exit Maid. 
 
 Lyd. Heigh ho ! Though he has used me so, this fellow 
 
88 THE RIVALS 
 
 runs strangely in my head. I believe one lecture from my 
 grave Cousin will make me recall him. 
 
 Enter Julia 
 
 Ltd. Julia, I have come to you with such an appetite for 
 consolation. — Lud! Child, what's the matter with you? 
 You have been crying ! — I'll be hanged, if that Faulkland 
 has not been tormenting you. 
 
 Jul. You mistake the cause of my uneasiness ! — Some- 
 thing has flurried me a little. Nothing that you can guess 
 at. — I would not accuse Faulkland to a Sister ! [Aside.] 
 
 Ltd. Ah ! whatever vexations you may have, I can assure 
 you mine surpass them. You know who Beverley proves 
 to be? 
 
 Jul. I will now own to you, Lydia, that Mr. Faulkland had 
 before informed me of the whole affair. Had young Absolute 
 been the person you took him for, I should not have accepted 
 your confidence on the subject, without a serious endeavour to 
 counteract your caprice. 
 
 Lyd. So, then, I see I have been deceived by every one ! 
 But I don't care — I'll never have him. 
 
 Jul. Nay, Lydia 
 
 Lyd. Why, is it not provoking ; when I thought we were 
 coming to the prettiest distress imaginable, to find myself 
 made a mere Smithfield bargain of at last! There had I 
 projected one of the most sentimental elopements ! — so- be- 
 coming a disguise ! — so amiable a ladder of Ropes ! — Con- 
 scious Moon — four horses — Scotch parson — with such 
 surprise to Mrs. Malaprop — and such paragraphs in the 
 News-papers ! — Oh, I shall die with disappointment ! 
 
 Jul. I don't wonder at it? [ ! ] 
 
THE RIVALS 89 
 
 Lyd. Now — sad reverse! — what have I to expect, but, 
 after a deal of flimsy preparation with a bishop's licence, and 
 my Aunt's blessing, to go simpering up to the Altar ; or per- 
 haps be cried three times in a country-church, and have an 
 unmannerly fat clerk ask the consent of every butcher in the 
 parish to join John Absolute and Lydia Languish, Spinster! 
 0, that I should live to hear myself called Spinster ! 
 
 Jul. Melancholy, indeed ! 
 
 Lyd. How mortifying, to remember the dear delicious 
 shifts I used to be put to, to gain half a minute's conversa- 
 tion with this fellow ! — How often have I stole forth, in the 
 coldest night in January, and found him in the garden, stuck 
 like a dripping statue ! There would he kneel to me in the 
 snow, and sneeze and cough so pathetically! he shivering 
 with cold, and I with apprehension ! and while the freezing 
 blast numb'd our joints, how warmly would he press me to 
 pity his flame, and glow with mutual ardour ! — Ah, Julia, 
 that was something like being in love. 
 
 Jul. If I were in spirits, Lydia, I should chide you only 
 by laughing heartily at you : but it suits more the situation of 
 my mind, at present, earnestly to entreat you not to let a 
 man, who loves you with sincerity, suffer that unhappiness 
 from your caprice, which I know too well caprice can inflict. 
 
 Lyd. Lud ! what has brought my Aunt here ? 
 
 Enter Mrs. Malaprop, Fag, and David 
 
 Mrs. Mal. So! so! here's fine work! — here's fine 
 suicide, paracide, and salivation going on in the fields ! and 
 Sir Anthony not to be found to prevent the antistrophe ! 
 
 Jul. For Heaven's sake, Madam, what's the meaning of 
 this? 
 
90 THE RIVALS 
 
 Mrs. Mal. That gentleman can tell you — 'twas he en- 
 veloped the affair to me. 
 
 Lyd. Do, Sir, will you, inform us ? [To Fag. 
 
 Fag. Ma'am, I should hold myself very deficient in every 
 requisite that forms the man of breeding, if I delay'd a mo- 
 ment to give all the information in my power to a lady so 
 deeply interested in the affair as you are. 
 
 Lyd. But quick ! quick, sir ! 
 
 Fag. True, Ma'am, as you say, one should be quick in 
 divulging matters of this nature ; for should we be tedious, 
 perhaps while we are flourishing on the subject, two or three 
 lives may be lost. 
 
 Lyd. 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 per- 
 pendiculars. 
 
 Lyd. Then, pry thee, Sir, be brief. 
 
 Fag. Why, then, Ma'am, as to murder — I cannot take 
 upon me to say — and as to slaughter, or man-slaughter, 
 that will be as the jury finds it. 
 
 Lyd. But who, Sir — who are engaged in this? 
 
 Fag. Faith, Ma'am, one is a young gentleman whom 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. Mal. Oh, to be sure, you are frightened now ! 
 
THE RIVALS 91 
 
 Jul. But who are with him, Sir ? 
 
 Fag. As to the rest, Ma'am, his gentleman can inform you 
 better than I? [.] 
 
 Jul. Do speak, friend. [To David. 
 
 Dav. Look'ee, my Lady — by the Mass ! there's mischief 
 going on. Folks don't use to meet for amusement with 
 firearms, firelocks, fire-engines, fire-screens, fire-office, and the 
 devil knows what other crackers beside ! — This, my Lady, I 
 say, has an angry savour. 
 
 Jul. But who is there beside Captain Absolute, friend? 
 
 Dav. My poor Master — under favour for mentioning 
 him first. You know me, my Lady — I am David — and my 
 Master of course is, or was Squire Acres. — Then comes 
 Squire Faulkland. 
 
 Jul. Do, Ma'am, let us instantly endeavour to prevent 
 mischief. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. fie ! 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. Mal. Sir Lucius O'Trigger? mercy! have they 
 drawn poor little dear Sir Lucius into the scrape ? — Why, 
 how you stand, girl ! you have no more feeling than one of the 
 Derbyshire Putrifactions ! 
 
 Lyd. What are we to do, Madam? 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Why, fly with the utmost felicity, to be sure, to 
 prevent mischief ! — Here, friend, you can show us the place ? 
 
 Fag. If you please, Ma'am ! I will conduct you. — David, 
 do you look for Sir Anthony. [Exit David. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Come, girls ! this gentleman will exhort us. — 
 
92 THE RIVALS 
 
 Come, Sir, you're our envoy — lead the way, and we'll pre- 
 cede. 
 
 Fag. Not a step before the ladies for the world ! 
 
 Mrs. Mal. You're sure you know the spot? 
 
 Fag. I think I can find it, Ma'am ; and one good thing is, 
 we shall hear the report of the pistols as we draw near, so we 
 can't well miss them ; — never fear, Ma'am, never fear. 
 
 [Exeunt, he talking. 
 
 Scene II. — South-Parade 
 
 Enter Absolute, putting his sword under his great-coat 
 
 Abs. A sword seen in the streets of Bath would raise as 
 great an alarm as a mad-dog. — How provoking this is in 
 Faulkland ! — never punctual ! I shall be obliged to go with- 
 out him at last. — 0, the devil! here's Sir Anthony! how 
 shall I escape him ? [Muffles up his face, and takes a circle 
 to go off. 
 
 Enter Sir Anthony 
 
 Sir Anth. How one may be deceived at a little distance ! 
 Only that I see he don't know me, I could have sworn "that was 
 Jack ! — Hey ! 'Gad's life ! it is. — Why, Jack, you Dog ! — 
 what are you afraid of? hey — sure I'm right. Why Jack, 
 Jack Absolute ! [Goes up to him. 
 
 Abs. Really, sir, you have the advantage of me : — I 
 don't remember ever to have had the honour — my name is 
 Sa undersoil, at your service. 
 
 Sir Anth. Sir, I beg your pardon — I took you — hey ! — 
 why, z — ds! it is — Stay — [Looks up to his face.] So, so — 
 your humble servant, Mr. Saunderson ! Why, you scoundrel, 
 what tricks are you after now ? 
 
THE RIVALS 93 
 
 Abs. Oh, a joke, Sir, a joke ! I came here on purpose to 
 look for you, Sir. 
 
 Sir Anth. You did ! well, I am glad you were so lucky : — 
 but what are you muffled up so for? — what's this for? — 
 hey? 
 
 Abs. 'Tis cool, Sir, isn't it ? — rather chilly somehow : — 
 but I shall be late — I have a particular engagement. 
 
 Sir Anth. Stay ! — Why, I thought you were looking for 
 me? — Pray, Jack, where is't you are going? 
 
 Abs. Going, sir? 
 
 Sir Anth. Ay, where are you going? 
 
 Abs. Where am I going? 
 
 Sir Anth. You unmannerly puppy ! 
 
 Abs. I was going, sir, to — to — to — to Lydia — Sir, to 
 Lydia — to make matters up if I could ; — and I was looking 
 for you, Sir, to — to — 
 
 Sir Anth. To go with you, I suppose. — Well, come along. 
 
 Abs. Oh ! z — ds ! no, Sir, not for the world ! — I wished to 
 meet with you, Sir, — to — to — to — You find it cool, I'm 
 sure, Sir — you'd better not stay out. 
 
 Sir Anth. Cool ! — not at all. — Well, Jack — and what 
 will you say to Lydia? 
 
 Abs. Oh, Sir, beg her pardon, humour her — promise and 
 vow : but I detain you, Sir — consider the cold air on your 
 gout. 
 
 Sir Anth. Oh, not at all ! — not at all ! I'm in no hurry. 
 — Ah ! Jack, you youngsters, when once you are wounded 
 here [Putting his hand to Absolute's breast.] Hey! what 
 the deuce have you got here ? 
 
 Abs. Nothing, Sir — nothing. 
 
 Sir Anth. What's this? — here's something d — d hard. 
 
94 THE RIVALS 
 
 Abs. Oh, trinkets, Sir ! trinkets ! — a bauble for Lydia. 
 
 Sir Anth. Nay, let me see your taste. — [Pulls his coat 
 open, the sword falls.] Trinkets ! a bauble for Lydia ! — 
 z — ds ! sirrah, you are not going to cut her throat, are you ? 
 
 Abs. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — I thought it would divert you, Sir, 
 tho' I didn't mean to tell you till afterwards. 
 
 Sir Anth. You didn't? — Yes, this is a very diverting 
 trinket, truly! 
 
 Abs. Sir, I'll explain to you. — You know, Sir, Lydia is 
 romantic, dev'lish romantic, and very absurd of course : — 
 now, Sir, I intend, if she refuses to forgive me, to unsheath 
 this sword, and swear — I'll fall upon its point, and expire 
 at her feet ! 
 
 Sir Anth. Fall upon fiddlestick's end ! — why, I suppose it 
 is the very thing that would please her. — Get along, you 
 Fool! 
 
 Abs. Well, Sir, you shall hear of my success — you shall 
 hear. — "0 Lydia! — forgive me, or this pointed steel" — 
 says I. 
 
 Sir Anth. "O, booby! stab away and welcome" — says 
 she. — Get along ! and damn your trinkets ! 
 
 [Exit Absolute. 
 
 Enter David, running 
 
 Dav. Stop him! stop him! Murder! Thief! Fire! — 
 Stop fire! Stop fire! — O Sir Anthony — call ! call! bid 
 'em stop ! Murder ! Fire ! 
 
 Sir Anth. Fire ! Murder ! — Where ? 
 
 Dav. Oons ! he's out of sight, and I'm out of breath for 
 my part, Sir Anthony, why didn't you stop him? why 
 didn't you stop him ? 
 
THE RIVALS 95 
 
 Sir Anth. Z — ds! the fellow's mad! — Stop whom? 
 stop Jack? 
 
 Dav. Ay, the Captain, Sir ! — there's murder and slaugh- 
 ter 
 
 Sir Anth. Murder ! 
 
 Dav. Ay, please you, Sir Anthony, there's all kinds of 
 murder, all sorts of slaughter to be seen in the fields : there's 
 fighting going on, Sir — bloody sword-and-gun fighting! 
 
 Sir Anth. Who are going to fight, Dunce ? 
 
 Dav. Everybody that I know of, Sir Anthony : — every- 
 body is going to fight, my poor Master, Sir Lucius OTrigger, 
 your son, the Captain 
 
 Sir Anth. Oh, the Dog ! I see his tricks. — Do you know 
 the place ? 
 
 Dav. King's-Mead-Fields. 
 
 Sir Anth. You know the way ? 
 
 Dav. Not an inch ; but I'll call the mayor — aldermen — 
 constables — churchwardens — and beadles — we can't be 
 too many to part them. 
 
 Sir Anth. Come along — give me your shoulder ! we'll get 
 assistance as we go — the lying villain ! — Well, I shall be in 
 such a frenzy ! — So — this was the history of his d — d 
 trinkets ! I'll bauble him ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — King's-Mead-Fields 
 Enter Sir Lucius and Acres with pistols 
 Acres. By my valour ! then, Sir Lucius, forty yards is a 
 good distance. Odds levels and aims ! — I say it is a good 
 distance. 
 
 Sir Luc. Is it for muskets or small field-pieces ? Upon my 
 conscience, Mr. Acres, you must leave those things to me. — 
 
96 THE RIVALS 
 
 Stay now — I'll show you. — [Measures paces along the stage.] 
 There now, that is a very pretty distance — a pretty gentle- 
 man's distance. 
 
 Acres. Z — ds ! we might as well fight in a centry-[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 
 Dest of all if he was out of sight ! 
 
 Acres. No, Sir Lucius ; but I should think forty or eight 
 and thirty yards 
 
 Sir Luc. Pho! pho! nonsense! three or four feet be- 
 tween the mouths of your pistols is as good as a mile. 
 
 Acres. Odds bullets, no! — by my valour! there is no 
 merit in killing him so near : do, my dear Sir Lucius, let me 
 bring him down at a long shot : — a long shot, Sir Lucius, 
 if you love me ! 
 
 Sir Luc. Well — the gentleman's friend and I must 
 settle that. — But tell me now, Mr. Acres, in case of an 
 accident, is there any little will or commission I could execute 
 for you? 
 
 Acres. I am much obliged to you, Sir Lucius, but I don't 
 understand 
 
 Sir Luc. Why, you may think there's no being shot at 
 without a little risk — and if an unlucky bullet should carry a 
 Quietus with it — I say it will be no time then to be bothering 
 you about family matters. 
 
 Acres. A Quietus ! 
 
 Sir Luc. For instance, now — if that should be the case — 
 would you chuse to be pickled and sent home ? — or would it 
 be the same to you to lie here in the Abbey? I'm told there 
 is very snug lying in the Abbey. 
 
 
THE RIVALS 97 
 
 Acres. Pickled! — Snug lying in the Abbey! — Odds 
 tremors ! Sir Lucius, don't talk so ! 
 
 Sir Luc. I suppose, Mr. Acres, you never were engaged 
 in an affair of this kind before ? 
 
 Acres. No, Sir Lucius, never before. 
 
 Sir Luc. Ah ! that's a pity ! — there's nothing like being 
 used to a thing. Pray now, how would you receive the gen- 
 tleman's shot? 
 
 Acres. Odds files ! — I've practised that — there, Sir 
 Lucius — there. [Puts himself in an attitude.] A side-front, 
 hey? Odd! I'll make myself small enough? I'll stand 
 edgeways. 
 
 Sir Luc. Now — you're quite out — for if you stand so 
 when I take my aim [Levelling at him. 
 
 Acres. Z — ds ! Sir Lucius — are you sure it is not cocked ? 
 
 Sir Luc. Never fear. 
 
 Acres. But — but — you don't know — it may go off of 
 its own head ! 
 
 Sir Luc. Pho ! be easy. — Well, now if I hit you in the 
 body, my bullet has a double chance — for if it misses a vital 
 part of your right side — 'twill be very hard if it don't succeed 
 on the left ! 
 
 Acres. A vital part ! O, my poor vitals ! 
 
 Sir Luc. But, there — fix yourself so — [Placing him] — 
 let him see the broad-side of your full front — there — now a 
 ball or two may pass clean through your body, and never do 
 any harm at all. 
 
 Acres. Clean through me ! — a ball or two clean through 
 
 me 
 
 Sir Luc. Aye — may they — and it is much the genteelest 
 attitude into the bargain. 
 
98 THE RIVALS 
 
 Acres. Look'ee ! Sir Lucius — I'd just as lieve be shot in 
 an awkward posture as a genteel one ; so, by my valour ! I 
 will stand edge-ways. 
 
 Sir Luc. [Looking at 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. Aye. — Who are those yonder getting over the 
 stile? 
 
 Acres. There are two of them indeed ! — well — let them 
 come — hey, Sir Lucius ! — we — we — we — we — won't 
 run. 
 
 Sir 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. fie ! — consider your honour. 
 
 Acres. Aye — true — my honour. Do, Sir Lucius, hedge 
 in a word or two every now and then about my 
 honour. 
 
 Sir Luc. Well, here they're coming. [Looking. 
 
 Acres. Sir Lucius — if I wa'n't with you, I should almost 
 think I was afraid. — If my valour should leave me! — 
 Valour will come and go. 
 
 Sir Luc. Then pray keep it fast, while you have it. 
 
 Acres. Sir Lucius — I doubt it is going — yes — my 
 valour is certainly going ! — it is sneaking off ! — I feel it 
 oozing out as it were at the palms of my hands ! 
 
 Sir Luc. Your honour — your honour. — Here they are. 
 
THE RIVALS 99 
 
 Acres. mercy ! — now — that I was safe at Clod-Hall ! 
 or could be shot before I was aware ! 
 
 Enter Faulkland and Absolute 
 
 Sir Luc. Gentlemen, your most obedient. — Hah! — 
 what, Captain Absolute ! — So, I suppose, sir, you are come 
 here, just like myself— to do a kind office, first for your 
 friend — then to proceed to business on your own account. 
 
 Acres. What, Jack ! — my dear Jack ! — my dear friend ! 
 
 Abs. Hark'ee, Bob, Beverley's at hand. 
 
 Sir Luc. Well, Mr. Acres— I don't blame your saluting 
 the gentleman civilly. — So, Mr. Beverley, [To Faulkland] 
 if you'll chuse your weapons, the Captain and I will measure 
 the ground. 
 
 Faulk. My weapons, Sir ! 
 
 Acres. Odds life ! Sir Lucius, I'm not going to fight Mr. 
 Faulkland ; these are my particular friends. 
 
 Sir Luc. What, Sir, did you not come here to fight Mr. 
 Acres ? 
 
 Faulk. Not I, upon my word, Sir. 
 
 Sir Luc. Well, now, that's mighty provoking! But I 
 hope, Mr. Faulkland, as there are three of us come on pur- 
 pose for the game — you won't be so cantanckerous as to 
 spoil the party by sitting out. 
 
 Abs. pray, Faulkland, fight to oblige Sir Lucius. 
 
 Faulk. Nay, if Mr. Acres is so bent on the matter 
 
 Acres. No, no, Mr. Faulkland ; I'll bear my disappoint- 
 ment like a Christian. — Look'ee, Sir Lucius, there's no 
 occasion at all for me to fight ; and if it is the same to you, 
 I'd as lieve let it alone. 
 
 Sir Luc. Observe me, Mr. Acres — I must not be trifled 
 
100 THE RIVALS 
 
 with. You have certainly challenged somebody — and you 
 came here to fight him. Now, if that gentleman is willing to 
 represent him — I can't see, for my soul, why it isn't just the 
 same thing. 
 
 Acres. Z — nds, — Sir Lucius — I tell you, 'tis one Bever- 
 ley I've challenged — a fellow, you see, that dare not show his 
 face ! — if he were here, I'd make him give up his pretensions 
 directly ! 
 
 Abs. Hold, Bob — let me set you right — there is no such 
 man as Beverley in the case. — The person who assumed that 
 name is before you ; and as his pretensions are the same in 
 both characters, he is ready to support them in whatever 
 way you please. 
 
 Sir Luc. Well, this is lucky. — Now you have an oppor- 
 tunity 
 
 Acres. What, quarrel with my dear friend, Jack Abso- 
 lute ? — not if he were fifty Beverleys ! Z — ds ! Sir Lucius, 
 you would not have me be so unnatural. 
 
 Sir Luc. Upon my conscience, Mr. Acres, your valour has 
 oozed away with a vengeance ! 
 
 Acres. Not in the least! Odds Backs and Abetters! 
 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 a 
 snug lying in the Abbey here; or pickle you, and send you 
 over to Blunderbuss-hall, or any of the kind, with the great- 
 est pleasure. 
 
 Sir Luc. Pho ! pho ! you are little better than a coward. 
 
 Acres. Mind, gentlemen, he calls me a Coward; Coward 
 was the word, by my valour ! 
 
 Sir Luc. Well, Sir? 
 
 Acres. Look'ee, Sir Lucius, 'tisn't that I mind the word 
 
THE RIVALS 101 
 
 Coward — Coward may be said in joke — But if you had 
 called me a Poltroon, odds Daggers and Balls 
 
 Sir Luc. Well, sir? 
 
 Acres. I should have thought you a very ill-bred man. 
 
 Sir Luc. Pho ! you are beneath my notice. 
 
 Abs. Nay, Sir Lucius, you can't have a better second than 
 my friend Acres. — He is a most determined dog — called in 
 the country, Fighting Bob. — He generally kills a man a week 
 
 — don't you Bob ? 
 Acres. Aye — at home ! 
 
 Sir Luc. Well, then, Captain, 'tis we must begin — so 
 come out, my little counsellor — [Draws his sword] — and 
 ask the gentleman, whether he will resign the lady, without 
 forcing you to proceed against him? 
 
 Abs. Come on then, sir — [Draws] ; since you won't let 
 it be an amicable suit, here's my reply. 
 
 Enter Sir Anthony, David, and the Women 
 
 David. Knock 'em all down, sweet Sir Anthony; knock 
 down my Master in particular ; and bind his hands over to 
 their good behaviour. 
 
 Sir Anth. Put up, Jack, put up, or I shall be in a frenzy 
 
 — how came you in a duel, Sir ? 
 
 Abs. Faith, Sir, that gentleman can tell you better than I ; 
 'twas he call'd on me, and you know, Sir, I serve his Majesty. 
 
 Sir Anth. Here's a pretty fellow ; I catch him going to cut 
 a man's throat, and he tells me he serves his Majesty! — 
 Zounds ! sirrah, then how durst you draw the King's sword 
 against one of his subjects ? 
 
 Abs. Sir ! I tell you, that gentleman called me out, without 
 explaining his reasons. 
 
102 THE RIVALS 
 
 Sir Anth. Gad ! Sir, how came you to call my son out, 
 without explaining your reasons ! 
 
 Sir Luc. Your son, Sir, insulted me in. a manner which my 
 honour could not brook. 
 
 Sir Anth. Zounds ! Jack, how durst you insult the gentle- 
 man in a manner which his honour could not brook ? 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Come, come, let's have no Honour before 
 ladies — Captain Absolute, come here — How could you 
 intimidate us so? — Here's Lydia has been terrified to death 
 for you. 
 
 Abs. For fear I should be kill'd, or escape, Ma'am? 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Nay, no delusions to the past — Lydia is 
 convinc'd ; speak, child. 
 
 Sir Luc. With your leave, Ma'am, I must put in a word 
 here — I believe I could interpret the young lady's silence — 
 Now mark 
 
 Ltd. What is it you mean, Sir? 
 
 Sir Luc. Come, come, Delia, we must be serious now — 
 this is no time for trifling. 
 
 Lyd. Tis true, Sir; and your reproof bids me offer this 
 gentleman my hand, and solicit the return of his affections. 
 
 Abs. ! 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 honour'd with her approbation, I will support my claim 
 against any man whatever. 
 
 Sir Anth. Well said, Jack, and I'll stand by you, my Boy. 
 
Joseph Jefferson as Bob Acres 
 
THE RIVALS 103 
 
 Acres. Mind, I give up all my claim — I make no preten- 
 sions to anything in the world ; and if I can't get a wife, with- 
 out fighting for her, by my Valour ! I'll live a bachelor. 
 
 Sir Luc. Captain, give me your hand — an affront hand- 
 somely acknowledged becomes an obligation — and as for the 
 
 Lady, if she chuses to deny her own handwriting here 
 
 [Takes out letters. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. 0, he will disolve my mystery ! — Sir Lucius, 
 perhaps there's some mistake — perhaps, I can illuminate 
 
 Sir Luc. Pray, old gentlewoman, don't interfere where you 
 have no business. — Miss Languish, are you my Delia, or not ? 
 
 Lyd. Indeed, Sir Lucius, I am not. 
 
 [Lydia and Absolute walk aside. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. 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. Mal. Why, thou barbarous Vandyke — those letters- 
 are mine. — When you are more sensible of my benignity — 
 perhaps I may be brought to encourage your addresses. 
 
 Sir Luc. Mrs. Malaprop, I am extremely sensible of your 
 condescension ; and whether you or Lucy have put this trick 
 on me, I am equally beholden to you. — And to show you I 
 am not ungrateful, Captain Absolute ! since you have taken 
 that lady from me, I'll give you my Delia into the bargain. 
 
 Abs. I am much obliged to you, Sir Lucius ; but here's our 
 friend, fighting Bob, unprovided for. 
 
 Sir Luc. Hah ! little Valour — here, will you make your 
 fortune ? 
 
 Acres. Odds Wrinkles ! No. — But give me your hand, 
 
104 THE RIVALS 
 
 Sir Lucius, forget and forgive ; but if ever I give you a chance 
 of pickling me again, say Bob Acres is a Dunce, that's all. 
 
 Sir Anth. Come, Mrs. Malaprop, don't be cast down — 
 you are in your bloom yet. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. Sir Anthony — men are all barbarians. 
 
 [All retire but Julia and Faulkland. 
 
 Jul. [Aside] He seems dejected and unhappy — not 
 sullen ; there was some foundation, however, for the tale he 
 told me — woman ! how true should be your judgment, 
 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. 
 
 Jul. Oh! Faulkland, you have not been more faulty in 
 your unkind treatment of me, than I am now in wanting 
 inclination to resent it. As my heart honestly bids me place 
 my weakness to the account of love, I should be ungenerous 
 not to admit the same plea for yours. . 
 
 Faulk. Now I shall be blest indeed ! 
 
 [Sir Anthony comes forward. 
 
 Sir Anth. What's going on here? — So you have been 
 quarrelling too, I warrant? Come, Julia, I never interfered 
 before ; but let me have a hand in the matter at last. — All 
 the faults I have ever seen in my friend Faulkland, seemed to 
 proceed from what he calls the delicacy and warmth of his 
 affection for you. — There, marry him directly, Julia, you'll 
 find he'll mend surprisingly! [The rest come forward. 
 
 Sir Luc. Come, now, I hope there is no dissatisfied person, 
 but what is content ; for as I have been disappointed myself, it 
 will be very hard if I have not the satisfaction of seeing other 
 people succeed better 
 
THE RIVALS 105 
 
 Acres. You are right, Sir Lucius. — So Jack, I wish you 
 joy. — Mr. Faulkland the same. — Ladies, — come now, to 
 show you I'm neither vex'd nor angry, Odds Tabors and 
 Pipes ! I'll order the fiddles in half an hour to the New Rooms 
 — and I insist on your all meeting me there. 
 
 Sir Anth. 'Gad ! Sir, I like your spirit ; and at night we 
 single lads will drink a health to the young couples, and a 
 husband to Mrs. Malaprop. 
 
 Faulk. Our partners are stolen from us, Jack — I hope to 
 be congratulated by each other — yours for having checked in 
 time the errors of an ill-directed Imagination, which might 
 have betray 'd an innocent heart ; and mine, for having, by 
 her gentleness and candour, reformed the unhappy temper of 
 one, who by it made wretched whom he loved most, and 
 tortured the heart he ought to have ador'd. 
 
 Abs. Well, Jack, [Faulkland?] we have both tasted the 
 Bitters, as well as the Sweets of Love ; with this difference 
 only, that you always prepared the bitter cup for yourself, 
 while I 
 
 Lyd. Was always obliged to me for it, hey ! Mr. Modesty? 
 But come, no more of that — our happiness is now as 
 
 unallay'd as general. 
 
 Jul. Then let us study to preserve it so : and while Hope 
 pictures to us a flattering scene of future Bliss, let us deny its 
 pencil those colours which are too bright to be lasting. — 
 When Hearts deserving Happiness would unite their fortunes, 
 Virtue would crown them with an unfading garland of modest, 
 hurtless flowers ; but ill- judging Passion will force the gaudier 
 Rose into the wreath, whose thorn offends them, when its 
 Leaves are dropped ! [Exeunt omnes. 
 
106 THE RIVALS 
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR 
 SPOKEN BY MRS. BULKLEY 
 
 Ladies, for You — I heard our Poet say — 
 
 He'd try to coax some Moral from his Play : 
 
 1 One moral's plain — cried I — without more fuss ; 
 
 Man's social happiness all rests on Us — 
 
 Thro' all the Drama — whether d — n'd or not — 
 
 Love gilds the Scene, and Women guide the plot. 
 
 From every rank — obedience is our due — 
 
 D'ye doubt? — 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 ivife : 
 John Trot, his friend — for once, will do the same, 
 But then — he'll just step home to tell my dame. 
 
 The surly Squire — at noon resolves to rule, 
 And half the day — zounds ! Madam is a fool ! 
 Convinced at night, the vanquish'd Victor says, 
 Ah, Kate ! you women have such coaxing ways. 
 
 The jolly Toper chides each tardy blade, — 
 Till reeling Bacchus calls on Love for aid : 
 Then with each Toast he sees fair bumpers swim, 
 And kisses Chloe on the sparkling Brim ! 
 
 Nay, I have heard that Statesmen — great and wise — 
 Will sometimes counsel with a Lady's eyes ! 
 The servile suitors — watch her various face, 
 She smiles preferment — or she frowns disgrace, 
 Curtsies a pension here — there nods a place. 
 
 Nor with less awe, in scenes of humbler life, 
 Is view'd the mistress, or is heard the wife. 
 The poorest Peasant of the poorest soil, 
 
THE RIVALS 107 
 
 The child of Poverty, and heir to Toil, 
 
 Early from radiant Love's impartial light 
 
 Steals one small spark, to cheer his world of night : 
 
 Dear spark ! — that oft through winter's chilling woes 
 
 Is all the warmth his little cottage knows ! 
 
 The wandring 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 remov'd, — 
 Still hums the ditty which his Susan loved : 
 And while around the cadence rude is blown, 
 The Boatswain whistles in a softer tone. 
 
 The Soldier, fairly proud of wounds and toil, 
 Pants for the triumph of his Nancy's smile ! 
 But ere the battle should he list' her cries, 
 The Lover trembles — and the Hero dies ! 
 That heart, by war and honour steel'd to fear, 
 Droops on a sigh, and sickens at a tear ! 
 
 But ye more cautious — ye nice judging few, 
 Who give to Beauty only Beauty's due, 
 Tho' friends to Love — 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 ; 
 Sham'd 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 ! 
 
 Acknowledgment is made to Professor George Henry Nettleton 
 for permission to use his text of " The Rivals," published by 
 Ginn and Company. 
 
NOTES 
 
 
 The best edition of Sheridan's three important plays is that 
 edited by Professor George Henry Nettleton, The Major Dramas 
 of Richard Brinsley Sheridan, With Introductions and Notes. 
 Boston : Ginn and Company, 1906. Athenaeum Press Series. 
 This contains a scrupulously accurate text of The Rivals, The 
 School for Scandal, and The Critic, with abundant and valuable 
 explanatory and critical comment. This work is indispensable to 
 a thorough study of Sheridan, and the student should also consult 
 and possess Professor Nettleton's English Drama of the Restoration 
 and Eighteenth Century (1642-1780). New York: The Mac- 
 millan Company, 1914. By kind permission of Professor Nettle- 
 ton, I have printed the text of The Rivals from his edition, and I 
 have made use of his researches in my statements of fact. The 
 best complete edition of Sheridan's Plays is that edited by the 
 late W. Fraser Rae, London, 1902. 
 
 Act I. Scene 1. 
 
 Here's a mort o' merry-making, hey? mort means an abun- 
 dance. 
 
 thoff Jack Gauge. Thoff is one of the pronunciations of though. 
 
 there's little Dick, the exciseman, has ta'en to his carrots, there's 
 little Dick the farrier swears he'll never forsake his bob. Many wore 
 the bob-wig, called bob for short; carrots refers to his own hair, 
 which in this case was red. Farrier is a blacksmith. 
 
 Act I. Scene 2. 
 
 Blonds. Murray defines as a silk lace of two threads. 
 A black paduasoy. Silk made at Padua. 
 108 
 
THE RIVALS 109 
 
 Act II. Scene 1. 
 
 Disbanded chairmen, seven minority waiters. Chairmen were 
 porters who carried people in a closed sedan-chair : observe 
 survival of word in motor-car to-day. Minority waiters probably 
 means waiters out of a job, or working singly, hand-to-mouth ; 
 observe disbanded chairmen. Perhaps to-day, non-union. 
 
 Minims and crotchets. In musical notation, the minim is a 
 half-note, the crotchet a quarter-note. 
 
 Go, gentle Gales. Gale then meant a soft breeze. 
 
 That confounded looby. From lob, dull, heavy person : modern 
 form of word, lubber. 
 
 Act III. Scene 3. 
 
 / doubt she is not prepared. Constantly used by Sheridan 
 and his contemporaries in the sense of I fear, I suspect, or I think, 
 like modern French. 
 
 Act IV. Scene 1. 
 
 Sharps and snaps. Swindlers and crooks.