No More Learning

--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. Dang_. Well, if they had kept to that, I should not
have been such an enemy to the stage; there was some edification
to be got from those pieces, Mr. Sneer!
_Sneer_. I am quite of your opinion, Mrs. Dangle: the
theatre, in proper hands, might certainly be made the school of
morality; but now, I am sorry to say it, people seem to go there
principally for their entertainment!
_Mrs. Dang_. It would have been more to the credit of the
managers to have kept it in the other line.
_Sneer_. Undoubtedly, madam; and hereafter perhaps to have
had it recorded, that in the midst of a luxurious and dissipated
age, they preserved two houses in the capital, where the
conversation was always moral at least, if not entertaining!
_Dang_. Now, egad, I think the worst alteration is in the
nicety of the audience! --No _double-entendre_, no smart
innuendo admitted; even Vanbrugh and Congreve obliged to undergo
a bungling reformation!
_Sneer_. Yes, and our prudery in this respect is just on a
par with the artificial bashfulness of a courtesan, who increases
the blush upon her cheek in an exact proportion to the diminution
of her modesty.
_Dang_. Sneer can't even give the public a good word! But
what have we here? --This seems a very odd--
_Sneer_. Oh, that's a comedy on a very new plan; replete
with wit and mirth, yet of a most serious moral! You see it is
called _The Reformed House-breaker_; where, by the mere
force of humour, house-breaking is put in so ridiculous a light,
that if the piece has its proper run, I have no doubt but that
bolts and bars will be entirely useless by the end of the season.
_Dang_. Egad, this is new indeed!
_Sneer_. Yes; it is written by a particular friend of mine,
who has discovered that the follies and foibles of society are
subjects unworthy the notice of the comic muse, who should be
taught to stoop only to the greater vices and blacker crimes of
humanity--gibbeting capital offences in five acts, and pillorying
petty larcenies in two. --In short, his idea is to dramatize the
penal laws, and make the stage a court of ease to the Old Bailey.
_Dang_. It is truly moral.
_Re-enter_ SERVANT.
_Ser_. Sir Fretful Plagiary, sir.
_Dang_. Beg him to walk up. --[_Exit_ SERVANT. ] Now,
Mrs. Dangle, Sir Fretful Plagiary is an author to your own taste.
_Mrs. Dang_. I confess he is a favourite of mine, because
everybody else abuses him.
_Sneer_. Very much to the credit of your charity, madam, if
not of your judgment.
_Dang_. But, egad, he allows no merit to any author but
himself, that's the truth on't--though he's my friend.
_Sneer_. Never. --He is as envious as an old maid verging on
the desperation of six and thirty; and then the insidious
humility with which he seduces you to give a free opinion on any
of his works, can be exceeded only by the petulant arrogance with
which he is sure to reject your observations.
_Dang_. Very true, egad--though he's my friend.
_Sneer_. Then his affected contempt of all newspaper
strictures; though, at the same time, he is the sorest man alive,
and shrinks like scorched parchment from the fiery ordeal of true
criticism: yet he is so covetous of popularity, that he had
rather be abused than not mentioned at all.
_Dang_. There's no denying it--though he is my friend.
_Sneer_. You have read the tragedy he has just finished,
haven't you?
_Dang_. Oh, yes; he sent it to me yesterday.
_Sneer_. Well, and you think it execrable, don't you?
_Dang_. Why, between ourselves, egad, I must own--though he
is my friend--that it is one of the most--He's here--
[_Aside_. ]--finished and most admirable perform--
_Sir Fret. [Without_. ] Mr. Sneer with him did you say?
_Enter_ SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
_Dang_. Ah, my dear friend! --Egad, we were just speaking of
your tragedy. --Admirable, Sir Fretful, admirable!
_Sneer_. You never did anything beyond it, Sir Fretful--
never in your life.
_Sir Fret_. You make me extremely happy; for without a
compliment, my dear Sneer, there isn't a man in the world whose
judgment I value as I do yours and Mr. Dangle's.
_Mrs. Dang_. They are only laughing at you, Sir Fretful; for
it was but just now that--
_Dang_. Mrs. Dangle! --Ah, Sir Fretful, you know Mrs.
Dangle. --My friend Sneer was rallying just now:--he knows how she
admires you, and--
_Sir Fret_. O Lord, I am sure Mr. Sneer has more taste and
sincerity than to--[_Aside_. ] A damned double-faced fellow!
_Dang_. Yes, yes--Sneer will jest--but a better humoured--
_Sir Fret_. Oh, I know--
_Dang_. He has a ready turn for ridicule--his wit costs him
nothing.
_Sir Fret_. No, egad--or I should wonder how he came by it.
[_Aside_. ]
_Mrs. Dang_. Because his jest is always at the expense of
his friend. [_Aside_. ]
_Dang_. But, Sir Fretful, have you sent your play to the
managers yet? --or can I be of any service to you?
_Sir Fret_. No, no, I thank you: I believe the piece had
sufficient recommendation with it. --I thank you though. --I sent
it to the manager of Covent Garden Theatre this morning.
_Sneer_. I should have thought now, that it might have been
cast (as the actors call it) better at Drury Lane.
_Sir Fret_. O Lud! no--never send a play there while I live--hark'ee!
[_Whispers_ SNEER. ]
_Sneer_. Writes himself! --I know he does.
_Sir Fret_. I say nothing--I take away from no man's merit--am
hurt at no man's good fortune--I say nothing. --But this I
will say--through all my knowledge of life, I have observed--that
there is not a passion so strongly rooted in the human heart as
envy.
_Sneer_. I believe you have reason for what you say, indeed.
_Sir Fret_. Besides--I can tell you it is not always so safe
to leave a play in the hands of those who write themselves.
_Sneer_. What, they may steal from them, hey, my dear
Plagiary?
_Sir Fret_. Steal! --to be sure they may; and, egad, serve
your best thoughts as gypsies do stolen children, disfigure them
to make 'em pass for their own.
_Sneer_. But your present work is a sacrifice to Melpomene,
and he, you know, never--
_Sir Fret_. That's no security: a dexterous plagiarist may
do anything. Why, sir, for aught I know, he might take out some
of the best things in my tragedy, and put them into his own
comedy.
_Sneer_. That might be done, I dare be sworn.