No More Learning

LADY TEAZLE. Hold--Lady Sneerwell--before you go let me thank you for
the trouble you and that Gentleman have taken in writing Letters from me
to Charles and answering them yourself--and let me also request you
to make my Respects to the Scandalous College--of which you are
President--and inform them that Lady Teazle, Licentiate, begs leave to
return the diploma they granted her--as she leaves of[f] Practice and
kills Characters no longer.

LADY SNEERWELL. Provoking--insolent! --may your Husband live these fifty
years!

[Exit. ]

SIR PETER. Oons what a Fury----

LADY TEAZLE. A malicious Creature indeed!

SIR PETER. Hey--not for her last wish? --

LADY TEAZLE. O No--

SIR OLIVER. Well Sir, and what have you to say now?

SURFACE. Sir, I am so confounded, to find that Lady Sneerwell could be
guilty of suborning Mr. Snake in this manner to impose on us all that
I know not what to say----however, lest her Revengeful Spirit should
prompt her to injure my Brother I had certainly better follow her
directly.

[Exit. ]

SIR PETER. Moral to the last drop!

SIR OLIVER. Aye and marry her Joseph if you can. --Oil and Vinegar
egad:--you'll do very well together.

ROWLEY. I believe we have no more occasion for Mr. Snake at Present--

SNAKE. Before I go--I beg Pardon once for all for whatever uneasiness I
have been the humble instrument of causing to the Parties present.

SIR PETER. Well--well you have made atonement by a good Deed at last--

SNAKE. But I must Request of the Company that it shall never be known--

SIR PETER. Hey! --what the Plague--are you ashamed of having done a right
thing once in your life?

SNAKE. Ah: Sir--consider I live by the Badness of my Character! --I have
nothing but my Infamy to depend on! --and, if it were once known that I
had been betray'd into an honest Action, I should lose every Friend I
have in the world.

SIR OLIVER. Well--well we'll not traduce you by saying anything to your
Praise never fear.

[Exit SNAKE. ]

SIR PETER. There's a precious Rogue--Yet that fellow is a Writer and a
Critic.

LADY TEAZLE. See[,] Sir Oliver[,] there needs no persuasion now to
reconcile your Nephew and Maria--

SIR OLIVER. Aye--aye--that's as it should be and egad we'll have the
wedding to-morrow morning--

CHARLES. Thank you, dear Unkle!

SIR PETER. What! you rogue don't you ask the Girl's consent first--

CHARLES. Oh, I have done that a long time--above a minute ago--and She
has look'd yes--

MARIA. For Shame--Charles--I protest Sir Peter, there has not been a
word----

SIR OLIVER. Well then the fewer the Better--may your love for each other
never know--abatement.

SIR PETER. And may you live as happily together as Lady Teazle and
I--intend to do--

CHARLES. Rowley my old Friend--I am sure you congratulate me and I
suspect too that I owe you much.

SIR OLIVER. You do, indeed, Charles--

ROWLEY. If my Efforts to serve you had not succeeded you would have been
in my debt for the attempt--but deserve to be happy--and you over-repay
me.

SIR PETER. Aye honest Rowley always said you would reform.

CHARLES. Why as to reforming Sir Peter I'll make no promises--and that
I take to be a proof that I intend to set about it--But here shall be my
Monitor--my gentle Guide. --ah! can I leave the Virtuous path those Eyes
illumine?

Tho' thou, dear Maid, should'st wave [waive] thy Beauty's Sway,
--Thou still must Rule--because I will obey:
An humbled fugitive from Folly View,
No sanctuary near but Love and YOU:
You can indeed each anxious Fear remove,
For even Scandal dies if you approve. [To the audience. ]

EPILOGUE

BY MR. COLMAN

SPOKEN BY LADY TEAZLE

I, who was late so volatile and gay,
Like a trade-wind must now blow all one way,
Bend all my cares, my studies, and my vows,
To one dull rusty weathercock--my spouse!
So wills our virtuous bard--the motley Bayes
Of crying epilogues and laughing plays!
Old bachelors, who marry smart young wives,
Learn from our play to regulate your lives:
Each bring his dear to town, all faults upon her--
London will prove the very source of honour.
Plunged fairly in, like a cold bath it serves,
When principles relax, to brace the nerves:
Such is my case; and yet I must deplore
That the gay dream of dissipation's o'er.
And say, ye fair! was ever lively wife,
Born with a genius for the highest life,
Like me untimely blasted in her bloom,
Like me condemn'd to such a dismal doom?
Save money--when I just knew how to waste it!
Leave London--just as I began to taste it!
Must I then watch the early crowing cock,
The melancholy ticking of a clock;
In a lone rustic hall for ever pounded,
With dogs, cats, rats, and squalling brats surrounded?
With humble curate can I now retire,
(While good Sir Peter boozes with the squire,)
And at backgammon mortify my soul,
That pants for loo, or flutters at a vole?
Seven's the main! Dear sound that must expire,
Lost at hot cockles round a Christmas fire;
The transient hour of fashion too soon spent,
Farewell the tranquil mind, farewell content!
Farewell the plumed head, the cushion'd tete,
That takes the cushion from its proper seat!
That spirit-stirring drum! --card drums I mean,
Spadille--odd trick--pam--basto--king and queen!
And you, ye knockers, that, with brazen throat,
The welcome visitors' approach denote;
Farewell all quality of high renown,
Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious town!
Farewell! your revels I partake no more,
And Lady Teazle's occupation's o'er!
All this I told our bard; he smiled, and said 'twas clear,
I ought to play deep tragedy next year.
Meanwhile he drew wise morals from his play,
And in these solemn periods stalk'd away:--
"Bless'd were the fair like you; her faults who stopp'd,
And closed her follies when the curtain dropp'd!
No more in vice or error to engage,
Or play the fool at large on life's great stage. "


END OF PLAY




<1> This PORTRAIT and Garrick's PROLOGUE are not included in Fraser
Rae's text.

<2> From Sheridan's manuscript.

<3> The story in Act I. Scene I. , told by Crabtree about Miss Letitia
Piper, is repeated here, the speaker being Sir Peter:

SIR PETER. O nine out of ten malicious inventions are founded
on some ridiculous misrepresentation--Mrs. Candour you remember
how poor Miss Shepherd lost her Lover and her Character one
Summer at Tunbridge.

MRS. C. To be sure that was a very ridiculous affair.

CRABTREE. Pray tell us Sir Peter how it was.

SIR P. Why madam--[The story follows. ]

MRS. C. Ha ha strange indeed--

SIR P. Matter of Fact I assure you. . . .

LADY T. As sure as can be--Sir Peter will grow scandalous
himself--if you encourage him to tell stories.
[Fraser Rae's footnote--Ed. ]

<4> The words which follow this title are not inserted in the manuscript
of the play. [Fraser Rae's footnote. --Ed. ]

<5> From this place to Scene ii. Act IV. several sheets are missing.
[Fraser Rae's footnote. --Ed. ]








Produced by Kent Cooper




The RIVALS
A Comedy

By Richard Brinsley Sheridan


* * * * * * *

PREFACE

A preface to a play seems generally to be considered as a kind of
closet-prologue, in which--if his piece has been successful--the author
solicits that indulgence from the reader which he had before
experienced from the audience: but as the scope and immediate object of
a play is to please a mixed assembly in _representation_ (whose
judgment in the theatre at least is decisive,) its degree of reputation
is usually as determined as public, before it can be 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
procrastination of a suit, from a consciousness of the weakness of the
cause. From these considerations, the following comedy would certainly
have been submitted to the reader, without any farther introduction
than what it had in the representation, but that its success has
probably been founded on a circumstance which the author is informed
has not before attended a theatrical trial, and which consequently
ought not to pass unnoticed.

I need scarcely add, that the circumstance alluded to was the
withdrawing of the piece, to remove those imperfections in the first
representation which were too obvious to escape reprehension, and too
numerous to admit of a hasty correction. There are few writers, I
believe, who, even in the fullest consciousness of error, do not wish
to palliate the faults which they acknowledge; and, however trifling
the performance, to second their confession of its deficiencies, by
whatever plea seems least disgraceful to their ability. In the present
instance, it cannot be said to amount either to candour or modesty in
me, to acknowledge an extreme inexperience and want of judgment on
matters, in which, without guidance from practice, or spur from
success, a young man should scarcely boast of being an adept. If it be
said, that under such disadvantages no one should attempt to write a
play, I must beg leave to dissent from the position, while the first
point of experience that I have gained on the subject is, a knowledge
of the candour and judgment with which an impartial public
distinguishes between the errors of inexperience and incapacity, and
the indulgence which it shows even to a disposition to remedy the
defects of either.

It were unnecessary to enter into any further extenuation of what was
thought exceptionable in this play, but that it has been said, that the
managers should have prevented some of the defects before its
appearance to the public--and in particular the uncommon length of the
piece as represented the first night. It were an ill return for the
most liberal and gentlemanly conduct on their side, to suffer any
censure to rest where none was deserved. Hurry in writing has long been
exploded as an excuse for an author;--however, in the dramatic line,
it may happen, that both an author and a manager may wish to fill a
chasm in the entertainment of the public with a hastiness not
altogether culpable. The season was advanced when I first put the play
into Mr. Harris's hands: it was at that time at least double the length
of any acting comedy. I profited by his judgment and experience in the
curtailing of it--till, I believe, his feeling for the vanity of a
young author got the better of his desire for correctness, and he left
many excrescences remaining, because he had assisted in pruning so many
more. Hence, though I was not 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 suspicious of its
offspring, and doubts whether it has created or adopted.

With regard to some particular passages which on the first night's
representation seemed generally disliked, I confess, that if I felt any
emotion of surprise at the disapprobation, it was not that they were
disapproved of, but that I had not before perceived that they deserved
it. As some part of the attack on the piece was begun too early to pass
for the sentence of _judgment_, which is ever tardy in condemning, it
has been suggested to me, that much of the disapprobation must have
arisen from virulence of malice, rather than severity of criticism: but
as I was more apprehensive of there being just grounds to excite the
latter than conscious of having deserved the former, I continue not to
believe that probable, which I am sure must have been unprovoked.
However, if it was so, and I could even mark the quarter from whence it
came, it would be ungenerous to retort: for no passion suffers more
than malice from disappointment. For my own part, I see no reason why
the author of a play should not regard a first night's audience as a
candid and judicious friend attending, in behalf of the public, at his
last rehearsal. If he can dispense with flattery, he is sure at least
of sincerity, and even though the annotation be rude, he may rely upon
the justness of the comment. Considered in this light, that audience,
whose _fiat_ is essential to the poet's claim, whether his object be
fame or profit, has surely a right to expect some deference to its
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 justifying
myself from the charge of intending any national reflection in the
character of Sir Lucius O'Trigger. If any gentlemen opposed the piece
from that idea, I thank them sincerely for their opposition; and if the
condemnation of this comedy (however misconceived the provocation)
could have added one spark to the decaying flame of national attachment
to the country supposed to be reflected on, I should have been happy in
its fate, and might with truth have boasted, that it had done more real
service in its failure, than the successful morality of a thousand
stage-novels will ever effect.

It is usual, I believe, to thank the performers in a new play, for the
exertion of their several abilities. But where (as in this instance)
their merit has been so striking and uncontroverted, as to call for the
warmest and truest applause from a number of judicious audiences, the
poet's after-praise comes like the feeble acclamation of a child to
close the shouts of a multitude. The conduct, however, of the
principals in a theatre cannot be so apparent to the public. I think
it therefore but justice to declare, that from this theatre (the only
one I can speak of from experience) those writers who wish to try the
dramatic line will meet with that candour and liberal attention, which
are generally allowed to be better calculated to lead genius into
excellence, than either the precepts of judgment, or the guidance of
experience.

The AUTHOR

* * * * * * *

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

As originally acted at COVENT GARDEN THEATRE in 1775

Sir ANTHONY ABSOLUTE
CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE
FAULKLAND
ACRES
Sir LUCIUS O'TRIGGER
FAG
DAVID
THOMAS
Mrs. MALAPROP
LYDIA LANGUISH
JULIA
LUCY
Maid, Boy, Servants, &c.

SCENE--Bath.

Time of action--Five hours.

* * * * * * *

PROLOGUE
By the AUTHOR

[Enter SERJEANT-AT-LAW, and ATTORNEY following, and giving a paper. ]

SERJEANT
What's here! --a vile cramp hand! I cannot see
Without my spectacles.

ATTORNEY
He means his fee.
Nay, Mr. Serjeant, good sir, try again. [Gives money. ]

SERJEANT
The scrawl improves! [more] O come, 'tis pretty plain.
Hey! how's this? Dibble! --sure it cannot be!
A poet's brief! a poet and a fee!

ATTORNEY
Yes, sir! though you without reward, I know,
Would gladly plead the Muse's cause.

SERJEANT
So! --so!

ATTORNEY
And if the fee offends, your wrath should fall
On me.

SERJEANT
Dear Dibble, no offence at all.

ATTORNEY
Some sons of Phoebus in the courts we meet,

SERJEANT
And fifty sons of Phoebus in the Fleet!

ATTORNEY
Nor pleads he worse, who with a decent sprig
Of bays adorns his legal waste of wig.

SERJEANT
Full-bottom'd heroes thus, on signs, unfurl
A leaf of laurel in a grove of curl!
Yet tell your client, that, in adverse days,
This wig is warmer than a bush of bays.

ATTORNEY
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. ]

SERJEANT
For practice then suppose--this brief will show it,--
Me, Serjeant Woodward,--counsel for the poet.
Used to the ground, I know 'tis hard to deal
With this dread court, from whence there's no appeal;
No tricking here, to blunt the edge of law,
Or, damn'd in equity, escape by flaw:
But judgment given, your sentence must remain;
No writ of error lies--to Drury Lane:
Yet when so kind you seem, 'tis past dispute
We gain some favour, if not costs of suit.
No spleen is here! I see no hoarded fury;--
I think I never faced a milder jury!
Sad else our plight! where frowns are transportation.
A hiss the gallows, and a groan damnation!
But such the public candour, without fear
My client waives all right of challenge here.
No newsman from our session is dismiss'd,
Nor wit nor critic we scratch off the list;
His faults can never hurt another's ease,
His crime, at worst, a bad attempt to please:
Thus, all respecting, he appeals to all,
And by the general voice will stand or fall.

* * * * * * *

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 amorous hint, and half-triumphant smiles;
While her light mask or covers satire's strokes,
Or hides the conscious blush her wit provokes.
Look on her well--does she seem form'd to teach?
Should you expect to hear this lady preach?
Is grey experience suited to her youth?
Do solemn sentiments become that mouth?
Bid her be grave, those lips should rebel prove
To every theme that slanders mirth or love.
Yet, thus adorn'd with every graceful art
To charm the fancy and yet reach the heart--
Must we displace her? And instead advance
The goddess of the woful countenance--
The sentimental Muse! --Her emblems view,
The Pilgrim's Progress, and a sprig of rue!
View her--too chaste to look like flesh and blood--
Primly portray'd on emblematic wood!
There, fix'd in usurpation, should she stand,
She'll snatch the dagger from her sister's hand:
And having made her votaries weep a flood,
Good heaven! she'll end her comedies in blood--
Bid Harry Woodward break poor Dunstal's crown!
Imprison Quick, and knock Ned Shuter down;
While sad Barsanti, weeping o'er the scene,
Shall stab herself--or poison Mrs. Green.
Such dire encroachments to prevent in time,
Demands the critic's voice--the poet's rhyme.
Can our light scenes add strength to holy laws!
Such puny patronage but hurts the cause:
Fair virtue scorns our feeble aid to ask;
And moral truth disdains the trickster's mask
For here their favourite stands, 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.


* * * * * * * * * * *

THE RIVALS

* * * * * * * * * * *


ACT I

* * * * * * *


Scene I. --A street.
[Enter THOMAS; he crosses the stage; FAG follows, looking after him. ]

FAG
What! Thomas! sure 'tis he? --What! Thomas! Thomas!

THOMAS
Hey! --Odd's life! Mr. Fag! --give us your hand, my old fellow-servant.

FAG
Excuse my glove, Thomas:--I'm devilish glad to see you, my lad. Why, my
prince of charioteers, you look as hearty! --but who the deuce thought
of seeing you in Bath?

THOMAS
Sure, master, Madam Julia, Harry, Mrs. Kate, and the postillion, be all
come.

FAG
Indeed!

THOMAS
Ay, master thought another fit of the gout was coming to make him a
visit;--so he'd a mind to gi't the slip, and whip! we were all off at
an hour's warning.

FAG
Ay, ay, hasty in every thing, or it would not be Sir Anthony Absolute!

THOMAS
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.

THOMAS
Why sure!

FAG
At present I am employed by Ensign Beverley.

THOMAS
I doubt, Mr. Fag, you ha'n't changed for the better.

FAG
I have not changed, Thomas.

THOMAS
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.

THOMAS
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.

THOMAS
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?

THOMAS
As a coach-horse.

FAG
Why then the cause of all this is--Love,--Love, Thomas, who (as you may
get read to you) has been a masquerader ever since the days of Jupiter.

THOMAS
Ay, ay;--I guessed there was a lady in the case:--but pray, why does
your master pass only for ensign? --Now if he had shammed general
indeed----

FAG
Ah! Thomas, there lies the mystery o' the matter. Hark'ee, Thomas, my
master is in love with a lady of a very singular taste: a lady who
likes him better as a half pay ensign than if she knew he was son and
heir to Sir Anthony Absolute, a baronet of three thousand a year.

THOMAS
That is an odd taste indeed! --But has she got the stuff, Mr. Fag? Is
she rich, hey?

FAG
Rich! --Why, I believe she owns half the stocks! Zounds! Thomas, she
could pay the national debt as easily as I could my washerwoman! She
has a lapdog that eats out of gold,--she feeds her parrot with small
pearls,--and all her thread-papers are made of bank-notes!

THOMAS
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.

THOMAS
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.

THOMAS
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' merrymaking, hey?

FAG
Pretty well, Thomas, pretty well--'tis a good lounge; in the morning we
go to the pump-room (though neither my master nor I drink the waters);
after breakfast we saunter on the parades, or play a game at billiards;
at night we dance; but damn the place, I'm tired of it: their regular
hours stupify 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.

THOMAS
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.

THOMAS
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.

THOMAS
Why, bless you, the gentlemen of the 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, though all the college should appear with their
own heads!

FAG
Indeed! well said, Dick! --But hold--mark! mark! Thomas.

THOMAS
Zooks! 'tis the captain. --Is that the Lady with him?

FAG
No, no, that is Madam Lucy, my master's mistress's maid. They lodge at
that house--but I must after him to tell him the news.

THOMAS
Odd! he's giving her money! --Well, Mr. Fag----

FAG
Good-bye, Thomas. I have an appointment in Gyde's porch this evening at
eight; meet me there, and we'll make a little party.

[Exeunt severally. ]

* * * * * * *


Scene II. --A Dressing-room in Mrs. MALAPROP's Lodgings.
[LYDIA sitting on a sofa, with a book in her hand. Lucy, as just
returned from a message. ]

LUCY
Indeed, ma'am, I traversed half the town in search of it: I don't
believe there's a circulating library in Bath I ha'n't been at.

LYDIA
And could not you get _The Reward of Constancy_?

LUCY
No, indeed, ma'am.

LYDIA
Nor _The Fatal Connexion_?

LUCY
No, indeed, ma'am.

LYDIA
Nor _The Mistakes of the Heart_?

LUCY
Ma'am, as ill luck would have it, Mr. Bull said Miss Sukey Saunter had
just fetched it away.

LYDIA
Heigh-ho! --Did you inquire for _The Delicate Distress_?

LUCY
Or, _The Memoirs of Lady Woodford_? Yes, indeed, ma'am. I asked every
where 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.

LYDIA
Heigh-ho! --Yes, I always know when Lady Slattern has been before me.
She has a most observing thumb; and, I believe, cherishes her nails for
the convenience of making marginal notes. --Well, child, what have you
brought me?

LUCY
Oh! here, ma'am. --[Taking books from under her cloak, and from her
pockets. ] This is _The Gordian Knot_,--and this _Peregrine Pickle_.
Here are _The Tears of Sensibility_, and _Humphrey Clinker_. This is
_The Memoirs of a Lady of Quality, written by herself_, and here the
second volume of _The Sentimental Journey_.

LYDIA
Heigh-ho! --What are those books by the glass?

LUCY
The great one is only _The Whole Duty of Man_, where I press a few
blonds, ma'am.

LYDIA
Very well--give me the sal volatile.

LUCY
Is it in a blue cover, ma'am?

LYDIA
My smelling-bottle, you simpleton!

LUCY
Oh, the drops! --here, ma'am.

LYDIA
Hold! --here's some one coming--quick, see who it is. ----

[Exit LUCY. ]

Surely I heard my cousin Julia's voice.

[Re-enter LUCY. ]

LUCY
Lud! ma'am, here is Miss Melville.

LYDIA
Is it possible! ----

[Exit LUCY. ]

[Enter JULIA. ]

LYDIA
My dearest Julia, how delighted am I! --[Embrace. ] How unexpected was
this happiness!

JULIA
True, Lydia--and our pleasure is the greater. --But what has been the
matter? --you were denied to me at first!

LYDIA
Ah, Julia, I have a thousand things to tell you! --But first inform me
what has conjured you to Bath? --Is Sir Anthony here?

JULIA
He is--we are arrived within this hour--and I suppose he will be here
to wait on Mrs. Malaprop as soon as he is dressed.

LYDIA
Then before we are interrupted, let me impart to you some of my
distress! --I know your gentle nature will sympathize with me, though
your prudence may condemn me! My letters have informed you of my whole
connection with Beverley; but I have lost him, Julia! My aunt has
discovered our intercourse by a note she intercepted, and has confined
me ever since! Yet, would you believe it? she has absolutely fallen in
love with a tall Irish baronet she met one night since we have been
here, at Lady Macshuffle's rout.

JULIA
You jest, Lydia!

LYDIA
No, upon my word. --She really carries on a kind of correspondence with
him, under a feigned name though, till she chooses to be known to
him:--but it is a Delia or a Celia, I assure you.

JULIA
Then, surely, she is now more indulgent to her niece.

LYDIA
Quite the contrary. Since she has discovered her own frailty, she is
become more suspicious of mine. Then I must inform you of another
plague! --That odious Acres is to be in Bath to-day; so that I protest I
shall be teased out of all spirits!

JULIA
Come, come, Lydia, hope for the best--Sir Anthony shall use his
interest with Mrs. Malaprop.

LYDIA
But you have not heard the worst. 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.

JULIA
What was his offence?

LYDIA
Nothing at all! --But, I don't know how it was, as often as we had been
together, we had never had a quarrel, and, somehow, I was afraid he
would never give me an opportunity. So, last Thursday, I wrote a letter
to myself, to inform myself that Beverley was at that time paying his
addresses to another woman. I signed it _your friend unknown_, showed
it to Beverley, charged him with his falsehood, put myself in a violent
passion, and vowed I'd never see him more.

JULIA
And you let him depart so, and have not seen him since?

LYDIA
'Twas the next day my aunt found the matter out. I intended only to
have teased him three days and a half, and now I've lost him for ever.