No More Learning

_Ser. _ There are some gentlefolks below to wait upon Lord
Foppington. [_Exit. _]
_Col. Town. _ 'Sdeath, Tom, what will you do now? [_Aside
to_ TOM FASHION. ]
_Lord Fop. _ Now, Sir Tunbelly, here are witnesses who I
believe are not corrupted.
_Sir Tun. _ Peace, fellow! --Would your lordship choose to have
your guests shown here, or shall they wait till we come to 'em?
_Fash. _ I believe, Sir Tunbelly, we had better not have these
visitors here yet. --[_Aside_. ] Egad, all must out.
_Love. _ Confess, confess; we'll stand by you. [_Aside
to_ TOM FASHION. ]
_Lord Fop. _ Nay, Sir Tunbelly, I insist on your calling
evidence on both sides--and if I do not prove that fellow an
impostor--
_Fash_. Brother, I will save you the trouble, by now
confessing that I am not what I have passed myself for. --Sir
Tunbelly, I am a gentleman, and I flatter myself a man of
character; but'tis with great pride I assure you I am not Lord
Foppington.
_Sir Tun_. Ouns! --what's this? --an impostor? --a cheat? --fire
and faggots, sir, if you are not Lord Foppington, who the
devil are you?
_Fash_. Sir, the best of my condition is, I am your son-in-law;
and the worst of it is, I am brother to that noble peer.
_Lord Fop_. Impudent to the last, Gad dem me!
_Sir Tun_. My son-in-law! not yet, I hope.
_Fash_. Pardon me, sir; thanks to the goodness of your
chaplain, and the kind offices of this gentlewoman.
_Lory_. 'Tis true indeed, sir; I gave your daughter away,
and Mrs. Nurse, here, was clerk.
_Sir Tun_. Knock that rascal down! --But speak, Jezebel, how's
this?
_Nurse_. Alas! your honour, forgive me; I have been
overreached in this business as well as you. Your worship knows,
if the wedding-dinner had been ready, you would have given her
away with your own hands.
_Sir Tun_. But how durst you do this without acquainting me?
_Nurse_. Alas! if your worship had seen how the poor thing
begged and prayed, and clung and twined about me like ivy round
an old wall, you would say, I who had nursed it, and reared it,
must have had a heart like stone to refuse it.
_Sir Tun_. Ouns! I shall go mad! Unloose my lord there, you
scoundrels!
_Lord Fop_. Why, when these gentlemen are at leisure, I
should be glad to congratulate you on your son-in-law, with a
little more freedom of address.
_Miss Hoyd_. Egad, though, I don't see which is to be my
husband after all.
_Love_. Come, come, Sir Tunbelly, a man of your
understanding must perceive that an affair of this kind is not to
be mended by anger and reproaches.
_Col. Town_. Take my word for it, Sir Tunbelly, you are only
tricked into a son-in-law you may be proud of: my friend Tom
Fashion is as honest a fellow as ever breathed.
_Love_. That he is, depend on't; and will hunt or drink with
you most affectionately: be generous, old boy, and forgive them--
_Sir Tun_. Never! the hussy! --when I had set my heart on
getting her a title.
_Lord Fop_. Now, Sir Tunbelly, that I am untrussed--give me
leave to thank thee for the very extraordinary reception I have
met with in thy damned, execrable mansion; and at the same time
to assure you, that of all the bumpkins and blockheads I have had
the misfortune to meek with, thou art the most obstinate and
egregious, strike me ugly!
_Sir Tun_. What's this! I believe you are both rogues alike.
_Lord Fop_. No, Sir Tunbelly, thou wilt find to thy
unspeakable mortification, that I am the real Lord Foppington,
who was to have disgraced myself by an alliance with a clod; and
that thou hast matched thy girl to a beggarly younger brother of
mine, whose title deeds might be contained in thy tobacco-box.
_Sir Tun_. Puppy! puppy! --I might prevent their being
beggars, if I chose it; for I could give 'em as good a rent-roll
as your lordship.
_Lord Fop_. Ay, old fellow, but you will not do that--for
that would be acting like a Christian, and thou art a barbarian,
stap my vitals.
_Sir Tun_. Udzookers! now six such words more, and I'll
forgive them directly.
_Love_. 'Slife, Sir Tunbelly, you should do it, and bless
yourself--Ladies, what say you?
_Aman_. Good Sir Tunbelly, you must consent.
_Ber_. Come, you have been young yourself, Sir Tunbelly.
_Sir Tun_. Well then, if I must, I must; but turn--turn that
sneering lord out, however, and let me be revenged on somebody.
But first look whether I am a barbarian or not; there, children,
I join your hands; and when I'm in a better humour, I'll give you
my blessing.
_Love_. Nobly done, Sir Tunbelly! and we shall see you dance
at a grandson's christening yet.
_Miss Hoyd_. By goles, though, I don't understand this!
What! an't I to be a lady after all? only plain Mrs. --What's my
husband's name, nurse?
_Nurse_. Squire Fashion.
_Miss Hoyd_. Squire, is he? --Well, that's better than
nothing.
_Lord Fop. [Aside_. ] Now I will put on a philosophic air,
and show these people, that it is not possible to put a man of my
quality out of countenance. --[_Aloud_. ] Dear Tam, since
things are fallen out, pr'ythee give me leave to wish thee joy; I
do it _de bon coeur_, strike me dumb! You have married into
a family of great politeness and uncommon elegance of manners,
and your bride appears to be a lady beautiful in person, modest
in her deportment, refined in her sentiments, and of nice
morality, split my windpipe!
_Miss Hoyd_. By goles, husband, break his bones if he calls
me names!
_Fash_. Your lordship may keep up your spirits with your
grimace, if you please; I shall support mine, by Sir Tunbelly's
favour, with this lady and three thousand pounds a year.
_Lord Fop_. Well, adieu, Tam! --Ladies, I kiss your, hands! --
Sir Tunbelly, I shall now quit this thy den; but while I retain
the use of my arms, I shall ever remember thou art a demned
horrid savage; Ged demn me! [_Exit_. ]
_Sir Tun_. By the mass, 'tis well he's gone--for I should
ha' been provoked, by-and-by, to ha' dun un a mischief. Well, if
this is a lord, I think Hoyden has luck on her side, in troth.
_Col. Town_. She has, indeed, Sir Tunbelly. --But I hear the
fiddles; his lordship, I know, has provided 'em.
_Love_. Oh, a dance and a bottle, Sir Tunbelly, by all
means!
_Sir Tun_. I had forgot the company below; well--what--we
must be merry, then, ha? and dance and drink, ha? Well, 'fore
George, you shan't say I do these things by halves. Son-in-law
there looks like a hearty rogue, so we'll have a night on't: and
which of these ladies will be the old man's partner, ha? --Ecod, I
don't know how I came to be in so good a humour.
_Ber_. Well, Sir Tunbelly, my friend and I both will
endeavour to keep you so: you have done a generous action, and
are entitled to our attention. If you should be at a loss to
divert your new guests, we will assist you to relate to them the
plot of your daughter's marriage, and his lordship's deserved
mortification; a subject which perhaps may afford no bad
evening's entertainment.
_Sir Tun_. Ecod, with all my heart; though I am a main
bungler at a long story.
_Ber_. Never fear; we will assist you, if the tale is judged
worth being repeated; but of this you may be assured, that while
the intention is evidently to please, British auditors will ever
be indulgent to the errors of the performance. [Exeunt omnes. ]




THE CRITIC;
OR, A TRAGEDY REHEARSED _A DRAMATIC PIECE IN THREE ACTS_ TO
MRS. GREVILLE
_MADAM_,--In requesting your permission to address the
following pages to you, which, as they aim themselves to be
critical, require every protection and allowance that approving
taste or friendly prejudice can give them, I yet ventured to
mention no other motive than the gratification of private
friendship and esteem. Had I suggested a hope that your implied
approbation would give a sanction to their defects, your
particular reserve, and dislike to the reputation of critical
taste, as well as of poetical talent, would have made you refuse
the protection of your name to such a purpose. However, I am not
so ungrateful as now to attempt to combat this disposition in
you. I shall not here presume to argue that the present state of
poetry claims and expects every assistance that taste and example
can afford it; nor endeavour to prove that a fastidious
concealment of the most elegant productions of judgment and fancy
is an ill return for the possession of those endowments. Continue
to deceive yourself in the idea that you are known only to be
eminently admired and regarded for the valuable qualities that
attach private friendships, and the graceful talents that adorn
conversation. Enough of what you have written has stolen into
full public notice to answer my purpose; and you will, perhaps,
be the only person, conversant in elegant literature, who shall
read this address and not perceive that by publishing your
particular approbation of the following drama, I have a more
interested object than to boast the true respect and regard with
which I have the honour to be, Madam, your very sincere and
obedient humble servant, R. B. SHERIDAN.


DRAMATIS PERSONAE
AS ORIGINALLY ACTED AT DRURY LANE THEATRE IN 1779

SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY. _Mr. Parsons_.
PUFF. _Mr. King_.
DANGLE. _Mr. Dodd_
SNEER. _Mr. Palmer_.
SIGNOR PASTICCIO RITORNELLO. _Mr. Delpini_.
INTERPRETER. _Mr. Baddeley_.
UNDER PROMPTER. _Mr. Phillimore_.
MR. HOPKINS. _Mr. Hopkins_.
MRS. DANGLE. _Mrs. Hopkins_.
SIGNORE PASTICCIO RITORNELLO. _Miss Field and the Miss
Abrams_.

Scenemen, Musicians, _and_ Servants.

CHARACTERS OF THE TRAGEDY

LORD BURLEIGH. _Mr. Moody_.
GOVERNOR OF TILBURY FORT. _Mr. Wrighten_.
EARL OF LEICESTER. _Mr. Farren_.
SIR WALTER RALEIGH. _Mr. Burton_.
SIR CHRISTOPHER HATTON. _Mr. Waldron_.
MASTER OF THE HORSE. _Mr. Kenny_.
DON FEROLO WHISKERANDOS. _Mr. Bannister, jun_.
BEEFEATER. _Mr. Wright_.
JUSTICE. _Mr. Packer_.
SON. _Mr. Lamash_.
CONSTABLE. _Mr. Fawcett_.
THAMES. _Mr. Gawdry_.
TILBURINA. _Miss Pope_.
CONFIDANT. _Mrs. Bradshaw_.
JUSTICE's LADY. _Mrs. Johnston_.
FIRST NIECE. _Miss Collett_.
SECOND NIECE. _Miss Kirby_.

Knights, Guards, Constables, Sentinels, Servants, Chorus, Rivers,
Attendants, &c. , &c.
SCENE--LONDON: _in_ DANGLES _House during the First Act,
and throughout the rest of the Play in_ DRURY LANE THEATRE.
PROLOGUE
BY THE HONOURABLE RICHARD FITZPATRICK

THE sister Muses, whom these realms obey,
Who o'er the drama hold divided sway,
Sometimes by evil counsellors, 'tis said,
Like earth-born potentates have been misled.
In those gay days of wickedness and wit,
When Villiers criticised what Dryden writ,
The tragic queen, to please a tasteless crowd,
Had learn'd to bellow, rant, and roar so loud,
That frighten'd Nature, her best friend before,
The blustering beldam's company foreswore;
Her comic sister, who had wit 'tis true,
With all her merits, had her failings too:
And would sometimes in mirthful moments use
A style too flippant for a well-bred muse;
Then female modesty abash'd began
To seek the friendly refuge of the fan,
Awhile behind that slight intrenchment stood,
Till driven from thence, she left the stage for good.
In our more pious, and far chaster times,
These sure no longer are the Muse's crimes!
But some complain that, former faults to shun,
The reformation to extremes has run.
The frantic hero's wild delirium past,
Now insipidity succeeds bombast:
So slow Melpomene's cold numbers creep,
Here dulness seems her drowsy court to keep,
And we are scarce awake, whilst you are fast asleep.
Thalia, once so ill-behaved and rude,
Reform'd, is now become an arrant prude;
Retailing nightly to the yawning pit
The purest morals, undefiled by wit!
Our author offers, in these motley scenes,
A slight remonstrance to the drama's queens:
Nor let the goddesses be over nice;
Free-spoken subjects give the best advice.
Although not quite a novice in his trade,
His cause to-night requires no common aid.
To this, a friendly, just, and powerful court,
I come ambassador to beg support.
Can he undaunted brave the critic's rage?
In civil broils with brother bards engage?
Hold forth their errors to the public eye,
Nay more, e'en newspapers themselves defy?
Say, must his single arm encounter all?
By number vanquish'd, e'en the brave may fall;
And though no leader should success distrust,
Whose troops are willing, and whose cause is just;
To bid such hosts of angry foes defiance,
His chief dependence must be, your alliance.




ACT I.

SCENE I. --_A Room in_ DANGLE's _House_.
Mr. _and_ MRS. DANGLE _discovered at breakfast, and
reading newspapers_.
_Dang. [Reading. ] Brutus to Lord North. --Letter the second on
the State of the Army_--Psha! _To the first L dash D of the
A dash Y. --Genuine extract of a Letter from St. Kitt's. --Coxheath
Intelligence. --It is now confidently asserted that Sir Charles
Hardy_--Psha! nothing but about the fleet and the nation! --and
I hate all politics but theatrical politics. --Where's the Morning
Chronicle?
_Mrs. Dang_. Yes, that's your Gazette.
_Dang_. So, here we have it. --[_Reads. ] Theatrical
intelligence extraordinary. --We hear there is a new tragedy in
rehearsal at Drury Lane Theatre, called the Spanish Armada, said
to be written by Mr. Puff, a gentleman well-known in the
theatrical world. If we may allow ourselves to give credit to the
report of the performers, who, truth to say, are in general but
indifferent judges, this piece abounds with the most striking and
received beauties of modern composition. --_So! I am very glad
my friend Puff's tragedy is in such forwardness. --Mrs. Dangle, my
dear, you will be very glad to hear that Puff's tragedy--
_Mrs. Dang_. Lord, Mr. Dangle, why will you plague me about
such nonsense? --Now the plays are begun I shall have no peace. --
Isn't it sufficient to make yourself ridiculous by your passion
for the theatre, without continually teasing me to join you? Why
can't you ride your hobby-horse without desiring to place me on a
pillion behind you, Mr. Dangle?
_Dang_. Nay, my dear, I was only going to read--
_Mrs. Dang_. No, no; you will never read anything that's
worth listening to. You hate to hear about your country; there
are letters every day with Roman signatures, demonstrating the
certainty of an invasion, and proving that the nation is utterly
undone. But you never will read anything to entertain one.
_Dang_. What has a woman to do with politics, Mrs. Dangle?
_Mrs. Dang_. And what have you to do with the theatre, Mr.
Dangle? Why should you affect the character of a critic? I have
no patience with you! --haven't you made yourself the jest of all
your acquaintance by your interference in matters where you have
no business? Are you not called a theatrical Quidnunc, and a mock
Maecenas to second-hand authors?
_Dang_. True; my power with the managers is pretty
notorious. But is it no credit to have applications from all
quarters for my interest--from lords to recommend fiddlers, from
ladies to get boxes, from authors to get answers, and from actors
to get engagements?
_Mrs. Dang_. Yes, truly; you have contrived to get a share in
all the plague and trouble of theatrical property, without the
profit, or even the credit of the abuse that attends it.
_Dang_. I am sure, Mrs. Dangle, you are no loser by it,
however; you have all the advantages of it. Mightn't you, last
winter, have had the reading of the new pantomime a fortnight
previous to its performance? And doesn't Mr. Fosbrook let you
take places for a play before it is advertised, and set you down
for a box for every new piece through the season? And didn't my
friend, Mr. Smatter, dedicate his last farce to you at my
particular request, Mrs. Dangle?
_Mrs. Dang_. Yes; but wasn't the farce damned, Mr. Dangle?
And to be sure it is extremely pleasant to have one's house made
the motley rendezvous of all the lackeys of literature; the very
high 'Change of trading authors and jobbing critics! --Yes, my
drawing-room is an absolute register-office for candidate actors,
and poets without character. --Then to be continually alarmed with
misses and ma'ams piping hysteric changes on Juliets and
Dorindas, Pollys and Ophelias; and the very furniture trembling
at the probationary starts and unprovoked rants of would-be
Richards and Hamlets! --And what is worse than all, now that the
manager has monopolized the Opera House, haven't we the signors
and signoras calling here, sliding their smooth semibreves, and
gargling glib divisions in their outlandish throats--with foreign
emissaries and French spies, for aught I know, disguised like
fiddlers and figure dancers?
_Dang_. Mercy! Mrs. Dangle!
_Mrs. Dang_. And to employ yourself so idly at such an
alarming crisis as this too--when, if you had the least spirit,
you would have been at the head of one of the Westminster
associations--or trailing a volunteer pike in the Artillery
Ground! But you--o' my conscience, I believe, if the French were
landed to-morrow, your first inquiry would be, whether they had
brought a theatrical troop with them.
_Dang_. Mrs. Dangle, it does not signify--I say the stage is
_the mirror of Nature_, and the actors are _the Abstract
and brief Chronicles of the Time_: and pray what can a man of
sense study better? --Besides, you will not easily persuade me
that there is no credit or importance in being at the head of a
band of critics, who take upon them to decide for the whole town,
whose opinion and patronage all writers solicit, and whose
recommendation no manager dares refuse.
_Mrs. Dang_. Ridiculous! --Both managers and authors of the
least merit laugh at your pretensions. --The public is their
critic--without whose fair approbation they know no play can rest
on the stage, and with whose applause they welcome such attacks
as yours, and laugh at the malice of them, where they can't at
the wit.
_Dang_. Very well, madam--very well!
_Enter_ SERVANT.
_Ser_. Mr. Sneer, sir, to wait on you.
_Dang_. Oh, show Mr. Sneer up. --[_Exit_ SERVANT. ]--
Plague on't, now we must appear loving and affectionate, or Sneer
will hitch us into a story.
_Mrs. Dang_. With all my heart; you can't be more ridiculous
than you are.
_Dang_. You are enough to provoke--
_Enter_ SNEER.
Ha! my dear Sneer, I am vastly glad to see you. --My dear, here's
Mr. Sneer.
_Mrs. Dang_. Good-morning to you, sir.
_Dang_. Mrs. Dangle and I have been diverting ourselves with
the papers. Pray, Sneer, won't you go to Drury Lane Theatre the
first night of Puff's tragedy?
_Sneer_. Yes; but I suppose one shan't be able to get in,
for on the first night of a new piece they always fill the house
with orders to support it. But here, Dangle, I have brought you
two pieces, one of which you must exert yourself to make the
managers accept, I can tell you that; for'tis written by a person
of consequence.
_Dang_. So! now my plagues are beginning.
_Sneer_. Ay, I am glad of it, for now you'll be happy. Why,
my dear Dangle, it is a pleasure to see how you enjoy your
volunteer fatigue, and your solicited solicitations.
_Dang_. It's a great trouble--yet, egad, it's pleasant too.
--Why, sometimes of a morning I have a dozen people call on me at
breakfast-time, whose faces I never saw before, nor ever desire
to see again.
_Sneer_. That must be very pleasant indeed!
_Dang_. And not a week but I receive fifty letters, and not
a line in them about any business of my own.
_Sneer_. An amusing correspondence!
_Dang_. [_Reading_. ] _Bursts into tears and
exit_. --What, is this a tragedy?
_Sneer_. No, that's a genteel comedy, not a translation--
only taken from the French: it is written in a style which they
have lately tried to run down; the true sentimental, and nothing
ridiculous in it from the beginning to the end.
_Mrs.