No More Learning

MISS RICH. He! why Sir Gilbert and his family have been in the country
this month.

LOFTY. This month! It must certainly be so—Sir Gilbert's letter did
come to me from Newmarket, so that he must have met his lordship there;
and so it came about. I have this letter about me; I'll read it to you
(_Taking out a large bundle. _) That's from Paoli of Corsica; that's
from the Marquis of Squilachi. Have you a mind to see a letter from
Count Poniatowski, now king of Poland—Honest Pon—— (_Searching. _) O,
sir, what are you here too? I'll tell you what, honest friend, if you
have not absolutely delivered my letter to Sir William Honeywood, you
may return it. The thing will do without him.

SIR WILL. Sir, I have delivered it, and must inform you, it was
received with the most mortifying contempt.

CROAKER. Contempt! Mr. Lofty, what can that mean?

LOFTY. Let him go on, let him go on, I say. You'll find it come to
something presently.

SIR WILL. Yes, sir, I believe you'll be amazed, if, after waiting some
time in the ante-chamber; after being surveyed with insolent curiosity
by the passing servants, I was at last assured, that Sir William
Honeywood knew no such person, and I must certainly have been imposed
upon.

LOFTY. Good; let me die, very good. Ha! ha! ha!

CROAKER. Now, for my life, I can't find out half the goodness of it.

LOFTY. You can't. Ha! ha!

CROAKER. No, for the soul of me; I think it was as confounded a bad
answer, as ever was sent from one private gentleman to another.

LOFTY. And so you can't find out the force of the message? Why, I was
in the house at that very time. Ha! ha! It was I that sent that very
answer to my own letter. Ha! ha!

[Illustration:

LOFTY. —"_Ay, stick it where you will;
for, by the Lord, it cuts but a very poor figure where
it sticks at present. _"—_p. _ 318.
]


CROAKER. Indeed? How! why!

LOFTY. In one word, things between Sir William and me, must be behind
the curtain. A party has many eyes. He sides with Lord Buzzard; I side
with Sir Gilbert Goose. So that unriddles the mystery.

CROAKER. And so it does, indeed, and all my suspicions are over.

LOFTY. Your suspicions? What, then, you have been suspecting, have you?
Mr. Croaker, you and I were friends; we are friends no longer. Never
talk to me. It's over; I say, it's over.

CROAKER. As I hope for your favour, I did not mean to offend. It
escaped me. Don't be discomposed.

LOFTY. Zounds, sir, but I am discomposed, and will be discomposed. To
be treated thus! Who am I? Was it for this I have been dreaded both by
ins and outs? Have I been libelled in the Gazetteer, and praised in the
St. James's? Have I been cheered at Wildman's, and a speaker at
Merchant Tailors' Hall? Have I had my hand to addresses, and my head in
the print-shops; and talk to me of suspects?

CROAKER. My dear sir, be pacified. What can you have but asking pardon?

LOFTY. Sir, I will not be pacified. —Suspects! Who am I? To be used
thus, have I paid court to men in favour to serve my friends, the lords
of the treasury, Sir William Honeywood, and the rest of the gang, and
talk to me of suspects? Who am I, I say? who am I?

SIR WILL. Since, sir, you're so pressing for an answer, I'll tell you
who you are—a gentleman, as well acquainted with politics as with men
in power; as well acquainted with persons of fashion as with modesty;
with lords of the treasury as with truth; and with all as you are with
Sir William Honeywood. I am Sir William Honeywood.

_Discovering his ensigns of the Bath. _

CROAKER. Sir William Honeywood!

HONEYW. Astonishment! my uncle!

_Aside. _

LOFTY. So then, my confounded genius has been all this time only
leading me up to the garret, in order to fling me out of the window.

CROAKER. What, Mr. Importance, and are these your works? Suspect you!
You, who have been dreaded by the ins and outs: you, who have had your
hand to addresses, and your head stuck up in print-shops. If you were
served right, you should have your head stuck up in the pillory.

LOFTY. Ay, stick it where you will; for, by the Lord, it cuts but a
very poor figure where it sticks at present.

SIR WILL. Well, Mr. Croaker, I hope you now see how incapable this
gentleman is of serving you, and how little Miss Richland has to expect
from his influence.

CROAKER. Ay, sir, too well I see it, and I can't but say I have had
some boding of it these ten days. So I'm resolved, since my son has
placed his affections on a lady of moderate fortune, to be satisfied
with his choice, and not run the hazard of another Mr. Lofty in helping
him to a better.

SIR WILL. I approve your resolution; and here they come, to receive a
confirmation of your pardon and consent.

_Enter_ MRS. CROAKER, JARVIS, LEONTINE, OLIVIA.

MRS. CROAKER. Where's my husband? Come, come, lovey, you must forgive
them. Jarvis here has been to tell me the whole affair; and, I say, you
must forgive them. Our own was a stolen match, you know, my dear; and
we never had any reason to repent of it.

CROAKER. I wish we could both say so: however, this gentleman, Sir
William Honeywood, has been beforehand with you in obtaining their
pardon. So, if the two poor fools have a mind to marry, I think we can
tack them together without crossing the Tweed for it.

_Joining their hands. _

LEONT. How blest and unexpected! What, what can we say to such
goodness? But our future obedience shall be the best reply. And as for
this gentleman, to whom we owe——

SIR WILL. Excuse me sir, if I interrupt your thanks, as I have here an
interest that calls me. (_Turning to_ HONEYWOOD. ) Yes, sir, you are
surprised to see me; and I own that a desire of correcting your follies
led me hither. I saw with indignation the errors of a mind that only
sought applause from others; that easiness of disposition which, though
inclined to the right, had not courage to condemn the wrong. I saw with
regret those splendid errors, that still took name from some
neighbouring duty. Your charity, that was but injustice; your
benevolence, that was but weakness; and your friendship but credulity.
I saw, with regret, great talents and extensive learning only employed
to add sprightliness to error, and increase your perplexities. I saw
your mind, with a thousand natural charms; but the greatness of its
beauty served only to heighten my pity for its prostitution.

HONEYW. Cease to upbraid me, sir: I have for some time but too strongly
felt the justice of your reproaches; but there is one way still left
me. Yes, sir, I have determined this very hour to quit for ever, a
place where I have made myself the voluntary slave of all; and to seek
among strangers that fortitude which may give strength to the mind, and
marshal all its dissipated virtues. Yet, ere I depart, permit me to
solicit favour for this gentleman; who, notwithstanding what has
happened, has laid me under the most signal obligations. Mr. Lofty—

LOFTY. Mr. Honeywood, I am resolved upon a reformation, as well as you.
I now begin to find, that the man who first invented the art of
speaking truth, was a much cunninger fellow than I thought him. And to
prove that I design to speak truth for the future, I must now assure
you that you owe your late enlargement to another; as, upon my soul, I
had no hand in the matter. So now, if any of the company has a mind for
preferment, he may take my place. I am determined to resign.

[_Exit. _

HONEYW. How have I been deceived!

SIR WILL. No, sir, you have been obliged to a kinder, fairer friend for
that favour—to Miss Richland. Would she complete our joy, and make the
man she has honoured by her friendship happy in her love, I should then
forget all, and be as blest as the welfare of my dearest kinsman can
make me.

MISS RICH. After what is past, it would be but affectation to pretend
to indifference. Yes, I will own an attachment, which, I find, was more
than friendship. And if my entreaties cannot alter his resolution to
quit the country, I will even try if my hand has not power to detain
him.

_Giving her hand. _

HONEYW. Heavens! how can I have deserved all this? How express my
happiness, my gratitude! A moment like this overpays an age of
apprehension.

CROAKER. Well, now I see content in every face; but Heaven send we be
all better this day three months.

SIR WILL. Henceforth, nephew, learn to respect yourself. He who seeks
only for applause from without, has all his happiness in another's
keeping.

HONEYW. Yes, sir, I now too plainly perceive my errors. My vanity, in
attempting to please all, by fearing to offend any. My meanness in
approving folly, lest fools should disapprove. Henceforth, therefore,
it shall be my study to reserve my pity for real distress; my
friendship for true merit; and my love for her who first taught me what
it is to be happy.

EPILOGUE


SPOKEN BY MRS. BULKLEY.


As puffing quacks some caitiff wretch procure
To swear the pill, or drop, has wrought a cure;
Thus, on the stage, our play-wrights still depend
For epilogues and prologues on some friend,
Who knows each art of coaxing up the town,
And make full many a bitter pill go down:
Conscious of this, our bard has gone about,
And teased each rhyming friend to help him out.
An epilogue! things can't go on without it;
It could not fail, would you but set about it:
"Young man," cries one, (a bard laid up in clover,)
"Alas! young man, my writing days are over;
Let boys play tricks, and kick the straw, not I;
Your brother doctor there, perhaps, may try,"
"What I! dear Sir," the doctor interposes;
"What, plant my thistle, Sir, among his roses!
No, no, I've other contests to maintain;
To-night I heard our troops at Warwick-lane.
Go ask your manager"—"Who, me! Your pardon,
Those things are not our forte at Covent Garden. "
Our author's friends, thus placed at happy distance,
Give him good words, indeed, but no assistance.
As some unhappy wight, at some new play,
At the pit door stands elbowing a way,
While oft, with many a smile, and many a shrug,
He eyes the centre, where his friends sit snug;
His simpering friends, with pleasure in their eyes,
Sink as he sinks, and as he rises rise:
He nods, they nod; he cringes, they grimace;
But not a soul will budge to give him place.
Since, then, unhelp'd, our bard must now conform
"To 'bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,"
Blame where you must, be candid where you can,
And be each critic the _Good-natured Man_.




SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER;
OR,

THE MISTAKES OF A NIGHT
A COMEDY.


DEDICATION.

TO SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL. D.

DEAR SIR,

By inscribing this slight performance to you, I do not mean so much to
compliment you as myself. It may do me some honour to inform the
public, that I have lived many years in intimacy with you.
It may serve
the interests of mankind also to inform them, that the greatest wit may
be found in a character, without impairing the most unaffected piety.

I have, particularly, reason to thank you for your partiality to this
performance. The undertaking a Comedy not merely sentimental, was very
dangerous; and Mr. Colman, who saw this piece in its various stages,
always thought it so. However, I ventured to trust it to the public;
and though it was necessarily delayed till late in the season, I have
every reason to be grateful.

I am, dear sir,

Your sincere friend, and admirer,

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

PROLOGUE,

BY DAVID GARRICK, ESQ.


_Enter_ MR. WOODWARD,

Dressed in black, and holding a handkerchief to his eyes.

Excuse me, sirs, I pray—I can't yet speak—
I'm crying now—and have been all the week!
_'Tis not alone this mourning suit_, good masters;
_I've that within_—for which there are no plasters!
Pray, would you know the reason why I'm crying?
The Comic Muse, long sick, is now a-dying!
And if she goes, my tears will never stop;
for as a play'r, I can't squeeze out one drop:
I am undone, that's all—shall lose my bread—I'd
rather—but that's nothing—lose my head
When the sweet maid is laid upon the bier,
_Shuter_ and _I_ shall be chief mourners here.
To her a mawkish drab of spurious breed,
Who deals in _sentimentals_ will succeed!
Poor _Ned_ and _I_ are dead to all intents,
We can as soon speak _Greek_ as _sentiments_!
Both nervous grown, to keep our spirits up,
We now and then take down a hearty cup.
What shall we do? —If Comedy forsake us!
_They'll turn us out, and no one else will take us. _
But why can't I be moral? —Let me try—
My heart thus pressing—fixed my face and eye—
With a sententious look, that nothing means,
(Faces are blocks, in sentimental scenes)
Thus I begin—_All is not gold that glitters,
Pleasure seems sweet, but proves a glass of bitters.
When ignorance enters, folly is at hand;
Learning is better far than house and land.
Let not your virtue trip, who trips may stumble,
And virtue is not virtue, if she tumble. _

I give it up—morals won't do for me;
To make you laugh I must play tragedy.
One hope remains: hearing the maid was ill,
A _doctor_ comes this night to show his skill.
To cheer her heart, and give your muscles motion,
He in _five draughts_ prepared, presents a potion:
A kind of magic charm—for be assured,
If you will _swallow it_, the maid is cured:
But desperate the doctor, and her case is,
If you reject the dose, and make wry faces!
This truth he boasts, will boast it while he lives,
No _poisonous drugs_ are mixed with what he gives;
Should he succeed, you'll give him his degree;
If not, within he will receive no fee!
The college _you_, must his pretensions back,
Pronounce him _regular_, or dub him _quack_.


DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.


MEN.


SIR CHARLES MARLOW.
YOUNG MARLOW (HIS SON).
HARDCASTLE.
HASTINGS.
TONY LUMPKIN.
DIGGORY.


WOMEN.


MRS. HARDCASTLE.
MISS HARDCASTLE.
MISS NEVILLE.
MAID.


LANDLORD, SERVANTS, &c. &c.

[Illustration:

MRS. HARDCASTLE. —_"You shan't go. "—p. 326_.
]




ACT I.


SCENE. —_A scene in an old-fashioned house. _

_Enter_ MRS. HARDCASTLE _and_ MR. HARDCASTLE.

MRS. HARD. I vow, Mr. Hardcastle, you're very particular. Is there a
creature in the whole country, but ourselves, that does not take a trip
to town now and then to rub off the rust a little? There's the two Miss
Hoggs, and our neighbour Mrs. Grisby, go to take a month's polishing
every winter.

HARD. Ay, and bring back vanity and affectation to last them the whole
year. I wonder why London cannot keep its own fools at home. In my
time, the follies of the town crept slowly among us, but now they
travel faster than a stage-coach. Its fopperies come down, not only as
inside passengers, but in the very basket.

MRS. HARD. Ay, _your_ times were fine times, indeed; you have been
telling us of _them_ for many a long year. Here we live in an old
rambling mansion, that looks for all the world like an inn, but that we
never see company. Our best visitors are old Mrs. Oddfish, the curate's
wife, and little Cripplegate, the lame dancing-master; and all our
entertainment, your old stories of Prince Eugene and the Duke of
Marlborough. I hate such old-fashioned trumpery.

HARD. And I love it. I love everything that's old: old friends, old
times, old manners, old books, old wine; and, I believe, Dorothy
(_taking her hand_), you'll own I have been pretty fond of an old wife.

MRS. HARD. Lord, Mr. Hardcastle, you're for ever at your Dorothys, and
your old wives. You may be a Darby, but I'll be no Joan, I promise you.
I'm not so old as you'd make me, by more than one good year. Add twenty
to twenty, and make money of that.

HARD. Let me see; twenty added to twenty, makes just fifty and seven.

MRS. HARD. It's false, Mr. Hardcastle: I was but twenty when I was
brought to bed of Tony, that I had by Mr. Lumpkin, my first husband;
and he's not come to years of discretion yet.

HARD. Nor ever will, I dare answer for him. Ay, you have taught _him_
finely.

MRS. HARD. No matter, Tony Lumpkin has a good fortune. My son is not to
live by his learning. I don't think a boy wants much learning to spend
fifteen hundred a-year.

HARD. Learning, quotha! a mere composition of tricks and mischief.

MRS. HARD. Humour, my dear: nothing but humour. Come, Mr. Hardcastle,
you must allow the boy a little humour.

HARD. I'd sooner allow him a horse-pond. If burning the footmen's
shoes, frighting the maids, worrying the kittens—be humour, he has it.
It was but yesterday he fastened my wig to the back of my chair, and
when I went to make a bow, I popt my bald head in Mrs. Frizzle's face.

MRS. HARD. And am I to blame? The poor boy was always too sickly to do
any good. A school would be his death. When he comes to be a little
stronger, who knows what a year or two's Latin may do for him!

HARD. Latin for him! A cat and fiddle. No, no, the alehouse and the
stable are the only schools he'll ever go to.

MRS. HARD. Well, we must not snub the poor boy now, for I believe we
shan't have him long among us. Anybody that looks in his face may see
he's consumptive.

HARD. Ay, if growing too fat be one of the symptoms.

MRS. HARD. He coughs sometimes.

HARD. Yes, when his liquor goes the wrong way.

MRS. HARD. I'm actually afraid of his lungs.

HARD. And truly so am I; for he sometimes whoops like a speaking
trumpet—(_Tony hallooing behind the scenes_)—O there he goes—A very
consumptive figure, truly.

_Enter_ TONY, _crossing the stage_.

MRS. HARD. Tony, where are you going, my charmer? Won't you give papa
and I a little of your company, lovee?

TONY. I'm in haste, mother, I cannot stay.

MRS. HARD. You shan't venture out this raw evening, my dear; you look
most shockingly.

TONY. I can't stay, I tell you. The Three Pigeons expects me down every
moment. There's some fun going forward.

HARD. Ay; the alehouse, the old place: I thought so.

MRS. HARD. A low, paltry set of fellows.

TONY. Not so low neither. There's Dick Muggins the exciseman, Jack
Slang the horse-doctor, little Aminadab, that grinds the music-box, and
Tom Twist, that spins the pewter platter.

MRS. HARD. Pray, my dear, disappoint them for one night at least.

TONY. As for disappointing _them_, I should not so much mind; but I
can't abide to disappoint _myself_.

MRS. HARD. (_Detaining him. _) You shan't go.

TONY. I will, I tell you.

MRS. HARD. I say you shan't.

TONY. We'll see which is the strongest, you or I!

_Exit, hauling her out. _

HARDCASTLE, _solus_.

HARD. Ay, there goes a pair that only spoil each other; but is not the
whole age in a combination to drive sense and discretion out of doors?
There's my pretty darling Kate; the fashions of the times have almost
infected her too. By living a year or two in town, she is as fond of
gauze, and French frippery, as the best of them.

_Enter_ MISS HARDCASTLE.

HARD. Blessings on my pretty innocence! Drest out as usual, my Kate.
Goodness! What a quantity of superfluous silk hast thou got about thee,
girl! I could never teach the fools of this age, that the indigent
world could be clothed out of the trimmings of the vain.

MISS HARD. You know our agreement, sir. You allow me the morning to
receive and pay visits, and to dress in my own manner; and in the
evening, I put on my housewife's dress to please you.

HARD. Well, remember I insist on the terms of our agreement; and, by
the by, I believe I shall have occasion to try your obedience this very
evening.

MISS HARD. I protest, sir, I don't comprehend your meaning.

HARD. Then, to be plain with you, Kate, I expect the young gentleman I
have chosen to be your husband from town this very day. I have his
father's letter, in which he informs me his son is set out, and that he
intends to follow himself shortly after.

MISS HARD.