No More Learning

"SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER"

by Oliver Goldsmith



She Stoops To Conquer; Or, The Mistakes Of A Night.

A Comedy.


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 most 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 player, 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 prepar'd, presents a potion:
A kind of magic charm--for be assur'd,
If you will swallow it, the maid is cur'd:
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 in 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 PERSONAE.

MEN.

SIR CHARLES MARLOW Mr. Gardner.
YOUNG MARLOW (His Son) Mr. Lee Lewes.
HARDCASTLE Mr. Shuter.
HASTINGS Mr. Dubellamy.
TONY LUMPKIN Mr. Quick.
DIGGORY Mr. Saunders.

WOMEN.

MRS. HARDCASTLE Mrs. Green.
MISS HARDCASTLE Mrs. Bulkley.
MISS NEVILLE Mrs. Kniveton.
MAID Miss Williams.

LANDLORD, SERVANTS, Etc. Etc.




ACT THE FIRST.


SCENE--A Chamber in an old-fashioned House.


Enter MRS. HARDCASTLE and MR. HARDCASTLE.


MRS. HARDCASTLE. 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. Grigsby, go to take a month's
polishing every winter.

HARDCASTLE. 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. HARDCASTLE. 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
rumbling 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.

HARDCASTLE. 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. HARDCASTLE. Lord, Mr. Hardcastle, you're for ever at your
Dorothys and your old wifes. 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.

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

MRS. HARDCASTLE. 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.

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

MRS. HARDCASTLE. 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.

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

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

HARDCASTLE. I'd sooner allow him a horse-pond. If burning the
footmen's shoes, frightening the maids, and 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. HARDCASTLE. 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?

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

MRS. HARDCASTLE. 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.

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

MRS. HARDCASTLE. He coughs sometimes.

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

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

HARDCASTLE. 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. HARDCASTLE. 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. HARDCASTLE. 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.

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

MRS. HARDCASTLE. 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. HARDCASTLE. 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. HARDCASTLE. (detaining him. ) You shan't go.

TONY. I will, I tell you.

MRS. HARDCASTLE. I say you shan't.

TONY. We'll see which is strongest, you or I. [Exit, hauling her
out. ]

HARDCASTLE. (solus. ) 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.


HARDCASTLE. Blessings on my pretty innocence!
Lumpkin, my first
husband; and he's not come to years of discretion yet.

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

MRS. HARDCASTLE. 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.

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

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

HARDCASTLE. I'd sooner allow him a horse-pond. If burning the
footmen's shoes, frightening the maids, and 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. HARDCASTLE. 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?

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

MRS. HARDCASTLE. 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.

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

MRS. HARDCASTLE. He coughs sometimes.

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

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

HARDCASTLE. 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. HARDCASTLE. 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. HARDCASTLE. 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.

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

MRS. HARDCASTLE. 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. HARDCASTLE. 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. HARDCASTLE. (detaining him. ) You shan't go.

TONY. I will, I tell you.

MRS. HARDCASTLE. I say you shan't.

TONY. We'll see which is strongest, you or I. [Exit, hauling her
out. ]

HARDCASTLE. (solus. ) 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.


HARDCASTLE. 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 HARDCASTLE. 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.

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

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

HARDCASTLE. 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 HARDCASTLE. Indeed! I wish I had known something of this
before. Bless me, how shall I behave? It's a thousand to one I
shan't like him; our meeting will be so formal, and so like a thing of
business, that I shall find no room for friendship or esteem.

HARDCASTLE. Depend upon it, child, I'll never control your choice; but
Mr. Marlow, whom I have pitched upon, is the son of my old friend, Sir
Charles Marlow, of whom you have heard me talk so often. The young
gentleman has been bred a scholar, and is designed for an employment in
the service of his country. I am told he's a man of an excellent
understanding.

MISS HARDCASTLE. Is he?

HARDCASTLE. Very generous.

MISS HARDCASTLE. I believe I shall like him.

HARDCASTLE. Young and brave.

MISS HARDCASTLE. I'm sure I shall like him.

HARDCASTLE. And very handsome.

MISS HARDCASTLE. My dear papa, say no more, (kissing his hand), he's
mine; I'll have him.

HARDCASTLE. And, to crown all, Kate, he's one of the most bashful and
reserved young fellows in all the world.

MISS HARDCASTLE. Eh! you have frozen me to death again. That word
RESERVED has undone all the rest of his accomplishments. A reserved
lover, it is said, always makes a suspicious husband.

HARDCASTLE. On the contrary, modesty seldom resides in a breast that
is not enriched with nobler virtues. It was the very feature in his
character that first struck me.

MISS HARDCASTLE. He must have more striking features to catch me, I
promise you. However, if he be so young, so handsome, and so
everything as you mention, I believe he'll do still. I think I'll have
him.

HARDCASTLE. Ay, Kate, but there is still an obstacle. It's more than
an even wager he may not have you.

MISS HARDCASTLE. My dear papa, why will you mortify one so? --Well, if
he refuses, instead of breaking my heart at his indifference, I'll only
break my glass for its flattery, set my cap to some newer fashion, and
look out for some less difficult admirer.

HARDCASTLE. Bravely resolved! In the mean time I'll go prepare the
servants for his reception: as we seldom see company, they want as much
training as a company of recruits the first day's muster. [Exit. ]

MISS HARDCASTLE. (Alone). Lud, this news of papa's puts me all in a
flutter. Young, handsome: these he put last; but I put them foremost.
Sensible, good-natured; I like all that. But then reserved and
sheepish; that's much against him. Yet can't he be cured of his
timidity, by being taught to be proud of his wife? Yes, and can't
I--But I vow I'm disposing of the husband before I have secured the
lover.


Enter MISS NEVILLE.


MISS HARDCASTLE. I'm glad you're come, Neville, my dear. Tell me,
Constance, how do I look this evening? Is there anything whimsical
about me? Is it one of my well-looking days, child? Am I in face
to-day?

MISS NEVILLE. Perfectly, my dear. Yet now I look again--bless
me! --sure no accident has happened among the canary birds or the gold
fishes. Has your brother or the cat been meddling? or has the last
novel been too moving?

MISS HARDCASTLE. No; nothing of all this. I have been threatened--I
can scarce get it out--I have been threatened with a lover.

MISS NEVILLE. And his name--

MISS HARDCASTLE. Is Marlow.

MISS NEVILLE. Indeed!

MISS HARDCASTLE. The son of Sir Charles Marlow.

MISS NEVILLE. As I live, the most intimate friend of Mr. Hastings, my
admirer. They are never asunder. I believe you must have seen him
when we lived in town.

MISS HARDCASTLE. Never.

MISS NEVILLE. He's a very singular character, I assure you. Among
women of reputation and virtue he is the modestest man alive; but his
acquaintance give him a very different character among creatures of
another stamp: you understand me.