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(Enter Hardcastle.)

this frightful place, so far from home?

What has brought you to follow us ? Hard. I'm mistaken, or I heard voices of Hard. Sure, Dorothy, you have not lost

people in want of help. Oh, Tony, is your wits! So far from home, when you that you? I did not expect you so soon are within forty yards of your own door! back. Are your mother and her charge (To him.) This is one of your old tricks, in safety?

you graceless rogue, you! (To her.) Tony. Very safe, sir, at my aunt Pedi- Don't you know the gate, and the mulgree's. Hem.

berry-tree; and don't you remember the Mrs. Hard. (From behind.) Ah death! horsepond, my dear? I find there's danger.

Mrs. Hard. Yes, I shall remember the Hard. Forty miles in three hours; sure, horsepond as long as I live; I have caught that's too much, my youngster.

my death in it. (To Tony.) And is it Tony. Stout horses and willing minds to you, you graceless varlet, I owe all

make short journeys, as they say. Hem. this? I'll teach you to abuse your Mrs. Hard. (From behind.) Sure he'll mother, I will. do the dear boy no harm.

Tony. Ecod, mother, all the parish says Hard. But I heard a voice here; I should you have spoiled me, and so you may take

be glad to know from whence it came? the fruits on 't. Tony. It was I, sir, talking to myself, sir. Mrs. Hard. I'll spoil you, I will.

I was saying that forty miles in four (Follows him off the stage. Erit.) hours was very good going. Hem. As Hard. There's morality, however, in his to be sure it was. Hem. I have got a reply. sort of cold by being out in the air.

(Exit.) We'll go in if you please. Hem. Hard. But if you talked to yourself, you (Enter Hastings and Miss Neville.)

did not answer yourself. I am certain I heard two voices, and am resolved (Rais- Hastings. My dear Constance, why will ing his voice.) to find the other out.

you deliberate thus? If we delay a moMrs. Hard. (From behind.) Oh! he's ment, all is lost for ever. coming to find me out. Oh!

little resolution, and we shall soon be out Tony. What need you go, sir, if I tell you? of the reach of her malignity.

Hem. I'll lay down my life for the Miss Neville. I find it impossible. My truth-hem-I'll tell you all, sir.

spirits are so sunk with the agitations I (Detaining him.)

have suffered, that I am unable to face Hard. I tell you I will not be detained. I any new danger. Two or three years'

insist on seeing. It's in vain to expect patience will at last crown us with happiI'll believe you.

ness. Mrs. Hard. (Running forward from be- Hastings. Such a tedious delay is worse

hind.) O lud, he 'll murder my poor boy, than inconstancy. Let fly, my my darling. Here, good gentleman, whet charmer. Let us date our happiness from your rage upon me. Take my money, my

this very moment. Perish fortune. Love life, but spare that young gentleman, and content will increase what we possess

spare my child, if you have any mercy. beyond a monarch's revenue. Let me Hard. My wife! as I'm a Christian. prevail.

From whence can she come, or what does Miss Neville. Mr. Hastings, , she mean?

Prudence once more comes to my relief, Mrs. Hard. (Kneeling.) Take compas- and I will obey its dictates. In the mo

sion on us, good Mr. Highwayman. ment of passion, fortune may be despised, Take our money, our watches, all we have, but it ever produces a lasting repentance. but spare our lives. We will never bring I’m resolved to apply to Mr. Hardcastle's you to justice, indeed we won't, good Mr. compassion and justice for redress. Highwayman.


But though he had the will, he Hard. I believe the woman 's out of her has not the power to relieve you. What, Dorothy, don't


know Miss Neville. But he has influence, and me?

upon that I am resolved to rely. Mrs. Hard. Mr. Hardcastle, as I'm alive! Hastings. I have no hopes. But since you

My fears blinded me. But who, my dear, persist, I must reluctantly obey you. could have expected to meet you here, in


Pluck up a





SCENE 3. Scene changes [to a Room at

Mr. Hardcastle's.] (Enter Sir Charles and Miss Hardcastle.) Sir Charles. What a situation am I in!

If what you say appears, I shall then find a guilty son. If what he says be true, I shall then lose one that, of all others, I

most wished for a daughter. Miss Hard. I am proud of your approba

tion; and, to show I merit it, if you place yourselves as I directed, you shall hear

his explicit declaration. But he comes. Sir Charles. I'll to your father, and keep him to the appointment.

(Erit Sir Charles.)
(Enter Marlow.)


Marlow. Though prepared for setting out,

I come once more to take leave, nor did I, till this moment, know the pain I feel in

the separation. Miss Hard. (In her own natural manner.)

I believe these sufferings cannot be very great, sir, which you can so easily remove. A day or two longer, perhaps, might lessen your uneasiness, by showing the little value of what you now think proper to

regret. Marlow. (Aside.) This girl every mo

ment improves upon me. (To her.) It must not be, madam. I have already trifled too long with my heart.

My very pride begins to submit to my passion. The disparity of education and fortune, the anger of a parent, and the contempt of my equals, begin to lose their weight; and nothing can restore me to myself but

this painful effort of resolution. Miss Hard. Then go, sir. I'll urge noth

ing more to detain you. Though my family be as good as hers you came down to visit, and my education, I hope, not inferior, what are these advantages without equal affluence? I must remain contented with the slight approbation of imputed merit; I must have only the mockery of your addresses, while all your

serious aims are fixed on fortune. (Enter Hardcastle and Sir Charles from

behind.) Sir Charles. Here, behind this screen. Hard. Ay, ay, make no noise. I'll engage

my Kate covers him with confusion at

last. Marlow. By heavens, madam, fortune was

ever my smallest consideration. Your

beauty at first caught my eye; for its could see that without emotion! But i every moment that I converse with you, steals in some new grace, heightens the picture, and gives it stronger expression What at first seemed rustic plainness, nos appears refined simplicity. What seemei forward assurance, now strikes me as tht result of courageous innocence, and con

scious virtue. Sir Charles. What it mean! He

amazes me! Hard. I told you how it would be. Hush! Marlow. I am now determined to stay.

madam, and I have too good an opinion of my father's discernment, when he sees

you, to doubt his approbation. Miss Hard. No, Mr. Marlow, I will not.

cannot detain you. Do you think I could suffer a connexion, in which there is the smallest room for repentance? Do you think I would take the mean advantage of a transient passion, to load you wit confusion? Do you think I could ever relish that happiness, which was acquini

by lessening yours? Marlow. By all that's good, I can have

happiness but what's in your power tal grant me. Nor shall I ever feel repertance, but in not having seen your merits before. I will stay, even contrary to your wishes; and though you should persist to shun me, I will make my respectful assiduities atone for the levity of my past

conduct. Miss Hard. Sir, I must entreat you 'll de

sist. As our acquaintance began, so let it end, in indifference. I might have given an hour or two to levity; but, seriously. Mr. Marlow, do you think I could ever submit to a connection where I must appear mercenary, and you imprudent? Do you think I could ever catch at the

confident addresses of a secure admirer! Marlow. (Kneeling.) Does this look like

security ? Does this look like confidence? No, madam, every moment that shows : your merit, only serves to increase my diffidence and confusion. Here let me

continue Sir Charles. I can hold it no longer.

Charles, Charles, how hast thou deceived me! Is this your indifference, your unir

teresting conversation ! Hard. Your cold contempt! your forma!

interview! What have you to say now? Marlow. That I'm all amazement! What

can it mean? Hard. It means that you can say and un


say things at pleasure. That you can address a lady in private, and deny it in public; that you have one story for us,

and another for my daughter!. Marlow. Daughter!-this lady your

daughter! Hard. Yes, sir, my only daughter. My

Kate, whose else should she be? Jarlow. Oh, the devil! Miss Hard. Yes, sir, that very identical

tall squinting lady you were pleased to take me for. (Curtseying.) She that you addressed as the mild, modest, sentimental man of gravity, and the bold, forward, agreeable Rattle of the Ladies'

Club: ha, ha, ha! Marlow. Zounds, there's no bearing this;

it's worse than death! Miss Hard. In which of your characters,

sir, will you give us leave to address you? As the faltering gentleman, with looks on the ground, that speaks just to be heard, and hates hypocrisy: or the loud confident creature, that keeps it up with Mrs. Mantrap, and old Miss Biddy Buckskin, till

three in the morning; ha, ha, ha! Marlow. O, curse on my noisy head. I

never attempted to be impudent yet, that

I was not taken down. I must be gone. Hard. By the hand of my body, but you

shall not. I see it was all a mistake, and I am rejoiced to find it. You shall not, sir, I tell you. I know she'll forgive you. Won't you forgive him, Kate? We'll all

forgive you. Take courage, man. (They retire, she tormenting him to the

back scene.) (Enter Mrs. Hardcastle, Tony.) Mrs. Hard. So, so, they ’re gone off. Let

them go, I care not. Hard. Who gone? Mrs. Hard. My dutiful niece and her gen:

tleman, Mr. Hastings, from town. He who came down with our modest visitor

here. Sir Charles. Who, my honest George

Hastings! As worthy a fellow as lives, and the girl could not have made a more

prudent choice. Hard. Then, by the hand of my body, I'm

proud of the connection. Mrs. Hard. Well, if he has taken away

the lady, he has not taken her fortune, that remains in this family to console us

for her loss. Hard. Sure, Dorothy, you would not be so

mercenary? Mrs. Hard. Ay, that's my affair, not

yours. But you know, if your son, when of age, refuses to marry his cousin, her

whole fortune is then at her own disposal. Hard. Ah, but he's not of age, and she

has not thought proper to wait for his refusal.

(Enter Hastings and Miss Neville.) Mrs. Hard. (Aside.) What! returned so

soon? I begin not to like it. Hastings. (To Hardcastle.) For my late

attempt to fly off with your niece, let my present confusion be my punishment. We are now come back, to appeal from your justice to your humanity. By her father's consent, I first paid her my addresses, and our passions were first

founded in duty. Miss Neville. Since his death, I have been

obliged to stoop to dissimulation to avoid oppression. In an hour of levity, I was ready even to give up my fortune to secure my choice. But I'm now recovered from the delusion, and hope from your tenderness what is denied me from a

nearer connection. Mrs. Hard. Pshaw, pshaw! this is all but

the whining end of a modern novel. Hard. Be it what it will, I'm glad they 're

come back to reclaim their due. Come hither, Tony, boy. Do you refuse this

lady's hand whom I now offer you? Tony. What signifies my refusing? You

know I can't refuse her till I'm of age,

father. Hard. While I thought concealing your

age, boy, was likely to conduce to your improvement, I concurred with your mother's desire to keep it secret. But since I find she turns it to a wrong use, I must now declare, you have been of age

these three months.
Tony. Of age! Am I of age, father?
Hard. Above three months.

Then you 'll see the first use I'll make of my liberty. (Taking Miss Neville's hand.) Witness all men by these presents, that I, Anthony Lumpkin, Esquire, of blank place, refuse you, Constantia Neville, spinster, of no place at all, for my true and lawful wife. So Constance Neville may marry whom she pleases, and Tony Lumpkin is his own

man again! Sir Charles. O brave 'Squire! Hastings. My worthy friend! Mrs. Hard. My undutiful offspring! Marlow. Joy, my dear George, I give you

joy, sincerely. And could I prevail upon



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my little tyrant here to be less arbitrary, And madam now begins to hold it higher; I should be the happiest man alive, if Pretends to taste, at Operas cries caro, you would return me the favor.

And quits her Nancy Dawson, for Che Hastings. (To Miss Hardcastle.) Come, Faro.4

madam, you are now driven to the very Doats upon dancing, and in all her pride, last scene of all your contrivances. I Swims round the room, the Heinel of know you

like him, I'm sure he loves you, Cheapside: and you must and shall have him.

Ogles and leers with artificial skill, Hard. (Joining their hands.). And I say Till having lost in age the power to kill,

so, too. And Mr. Marlow, if she makes She sits all night at cards, and ogles at as good a wife as she has a daughter, I

spadille.13 don't believe you 'll ever repent your bar- Such, through our lives, the eventful hisgain. So now to supper, to-morrow we toryshall gather all the poor of the parish The fifth and last act still remains for me. about us, and the Mistakes of the Night The barmaid now for your protection prays, shall be crowned with a merry morning; Turns female barrister, and pleads for so boy, take her; and as you have been Bayes. 44 mistaken in the mistress, my wish is, that you may never be mistaken in the wife.


To be spoken in the character of

Tony Lumpkin.
By Dr. Goldsmith.
Well, having stooped to conquer with suc-

By J. Craddock, Esq. cess,

Well—now all's ended—and my comrades And gained a husband without aid from gone, dress,

Pray what becomes of mother's nonly son! Still as a barmaid, I could wish it too, A hopeful blade !-in town I'll fix my staAs I have conquered him to conquer you:

tion, And let me say, for all your resolution, And try to make a bluster in the nation. That pretty barmaids have done execution. As for my cousin Neville, I renounce ber. Our life is all a play, composed to please, Off—in crack-I'll carry big Bet “We have our exits and our entrances.” 38 Bouncer. The first act shows the simple country maid, Why should not I in the great world apHarmless and young, of everything afraid;

pear? Blushes when hired, and with unmeaning I soon shall have a thousand pounds a year; action,

No matter what a man may here inherit, I hopes as how to give you satisfaction. In Londongad, they've some regard to Her second act displays a livelier scene,- spirit. Th’ unblushing barmaid of a country inn, I see the horses prancing up the streets, Who whisks about the house, at market And big Bet Bouncer bobs to all she meets: caters,

Then hoikes to jiggs and pastimes ev'rs: Talks loud, coquets the guests, and scolds nightthe waiters.

Not to the plays—they say it a'n't polite. Next the scene shifts to town, and there she To Sadler's-Wells 45 perhaps, or Operas go. soars,

And once by chance, to the roratorio. The chop-house toast of ogling connoisseurs. Thus here and there, for ever up and down. On 'Squires and Cits 39 she there displays We'll set the fashions too, to half the town: her arts,

And then at auctions—money ne'er regari. And on the gridiron broils her lovers' Buy pictures like the great, ten pounds 2 hearts

yard: And as she smiles, her triumphs to complete, Zounds, we shall make these London gentry Even Common Councilmen forget to eat.

say, The fourth act shows her wedded to the We know what's damned genteel, as well as 'Squire,

they. 39 Citizens, "bour

Orfeo, 43 The ace of spades den in The B what follows are geois." 1764,-Che farò

hearsal). after the pattern 40 I. e., bravo. senza Euridice?

is mock-modest 42 A Prussian dan 44 i. e., the drama. in using ages" in Shakes- popular

popular in tist (from

word. peare's A8 the latter is London about


was 45 A pleasure resort Like It, II. vii. aria


38 This






in certain







41 The former is a


this time.
a parody on Dry. in the north of


an in Glück's



THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL Richard Brinsley Sheridan (1751-1816), as old as Chaucer's Merchant's Tale; the two like Goldsmith, was Irish in blood and some- brothers, one plausible and unlovely, the other what in temperament; he was born in Dublin, reekless but good-hearted, are familiar in though in boyhood he came to England, his Fielding's Tom Jones (not to mention the home thereafter. Through his father, an parable of the Prodigal Son). In this play, actor and theater-manager, he was doubtless as often, the comedy of manners verges into from the first thoroughly familiar with the the comedy of humors. That each character stage. His six plays were all written in his is intended to embody a single trait is anyouth; of the two best and most permanently nounced in the names of most of them popular, The Rivals was first acted in 1775 Teazle, Surface, Crabtree, etc. The charand The School for Scandal in 1777. His acterization is broad and simple, with little later eminence was political; he was in Par- aim at subtlety. But it is endlessly diverting liament for many years, rose high in the gov- and vigorous; every stroke counts, and its ernment, and was celebrated as an eloquent force makes it seem more lifelike than it is. and brilliant speaker.

Nor is it wanting in original discernment, as The School for Scandal is the finest ex- in the person of Mrs. Candour, who gets a ample in the eighteenth century of the comedy reputation for charity by professing disbelief of manners. As usual with this type, the in the malevolent gossip she spreads. characters are many, the dialogue is spark- The vitality of the play consists chiefly in ling, action bustling, and plot somewhat loose. its situations and its dialogue. Every action It has often been noticed that the title of and line show Sheridan's keen eye for the the play is derived from a very minor ele- dramatically effective. Two scenes are espement in it, Lady Sneerwell and her sister- cially celebrated. One (IV. i) is where hood, and their irresponsible and venomous Charles has his ancestors' portraits auctioned gossip. It is hardly true, however, that the off, the other (IV. iii) where the screen is scandal scenes are without function, for they thrown down and Lady Teazle is disclosed. give an extensive background, a sense that In each of them every speech makes the situathe action of the play is typical of a large tion

tense. The comedy is made society, which is essential to the comedy of more piquant in each by the spectator being manners. They also sharpen the satire; in the secret, which is not shared by the charscandal half the time is mistaken, as the acters; he rejoices that Charles' loyalty to audience is shown in advance (Sheridan fully his uncle is serving him better than he knows, understood the advantage of flattering his and that Joseph's agonized struggles (unseen audience); the tattlers make out Joseph Sur- by the other persons) are entangling him face to be Lady Sneerwell's lover instead of more and more. The scenes where Joseph reLady Teazle's, and him to be the saint and jects his disguised uncle's request (V. i), his brother Charles the sinner, instead of the where Sir Peter walks in upon the gossips nearly opposite truth; and no one will forget (V. ii), and the general clearing up at the the immortal satire on scandal-mongering in end, are also admirable. It is perhaps chiefly act V. ii, where a purely imaginary bullet is the effectiveness on the stage of such scenes said to have rebounded from the little bronze in this play and The Rivals that has enabled Pliny “and wounded the postman, who was Sheridan to outlive all other men of the just coming to the door with a double letter eighteenth century except Goldsmith as an from Northamptonshire.",

acting dramatist; and that made Sir Henry The essentials of the plot are neither espe- Irving call this play the most popular comedy cially original nor striking Domestic quar- in the English language. rels and intrigues, the exposure of hypocrisy His popularity on the stage has been hardly and the rewarding of generosity, are no more less helped by his dialogue; which is the entertaining and pleasing than they are usual chief reason for his popularity among readers. in comedy. Even the gossip-club is fore- He and Congreve are the most constantly shadowed in Congreve's The Way of the brilliant of the older English dramatists, and World (I. i) and elsewhere. Much the same Congreve is perhaps less epigrammatic and is true of the characters. The humor of the quotable. Sheridan's dialogue resembles old man who marries a young wife, brags to those fireworks which emit a steady shower her of the exploits of his youth, and is cajoled, of sparks, and now and then an exploding ball managed, and deceived by her, is at least of fire. Its sheer cleverness cannot be sur


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