Delphi Complete Works of Richard Brinsley Sheridan Read online

  The Complete Works of

  RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN

  (1751-1816)

  Contents

  The Dramatic Works

  THE RIVALS

  ST. PATRICK’S DAY

  THE DUENNA

  A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH

  THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL

  THE CAMP

  THE CRITIC

  THE GLORIOUS FIRST OF JUNE

  PIZARRO

  The Poetry

  THE POEMS OF RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN

  The Non-Fiction

  THE LEGISLATIVE INDEPENDENCE OF IRELAND VINDICATED

  A COMPARATIVE STATEMENT OF THE TWO BILLS, FOR THE BETTER GOVERNMENT OF THE BRITISH POSSESSIONS IN INDIA

  THE SPEECHES AND LETTERS

  The Biographies

  MEMOIRS OF THE LIFE OF THE RT. HON. RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN by Thomas Moore

  RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN by William Fraser Rae

  The Delphi Classics Catalogue

  © Delphi Classics 2017

  Version 1

  The Complete Works of

  RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN

  By Delphi Classics, 2017

  COPYRIGHT

  Complete Works of Richard Brinsley Sheridan

  First published in the United Kingdom in 2017 by Delphi Classics.

  © Delphi Classics, 2017.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form other than that in which it is published.

  ISBN: 978 1 78656 083 4

  Delphi Classics

  is an imprint of

  Delphi Publishing Ltd

  Hastings, East Sussex

  United Kingdom

  Contact: [email protected]

  www.delphiclassics.com

  Interested in classic drama?

  Then you’ll love these eBooks:

  These comprehensive editions are beautifully illustrated, perfectly formatted and offer a dazzling array of Delphi bonus features. Now you can rediscover the magic of these eternal playwrights on your eReader!

  Explore Playwrights at Delphi Classics

  The Dramatic Works

  Richard Brinsley Sheridan was born in Dublin on 30 October 1751

  The site of the birthplace today, Dorset Street, Dublin

  Dublin today

  THE RIVALS

  A COMEDY

  The Rivals debuted at the Covent Garden Theatre on 17 January 1775. It was Sheridan’s first play, composed shortly after he married Elizabeth Linley, who was considered to be one of the most well regarded soprano singers of the period. She was the daughter of composer Thomas Linley, who was the musical director of the Bath Assembly Rooms. Elizabeth performed in concerts for her father’s venue as well as appearing at the Covent Garden Theatre, which is better known as the Royal Opera House. Her work came to an abrupt end in 1773 when she married Sheridan and he forbade her to appear on stage as he believed it would reflect badly on his reputation and status as a gentleman. Though the playwright insisted it was necessary for his wife to retire, the couple soon suffered financial difficulties without Elizabeth’s income. It was under these circumstances that Sheridan decided he needed to write a play in order to earn enough money to uphold his extravagant lifestyle.

  The opening night of the play was a disaster, as it was excoriated by both critics and the public. One of the actors in a prominent role gave a particularly poor performance and the play was criticised for being too long. Sheridan immediately responded to its harsh reception and heavily edited the text over the course of a week and half; it was staged again, this time, to great acclaim. It has remained one of his most well-known and frequently performed works over the last two centuries.

  The Rivals is a comedy set in eighteenth century Bath, which was a city often associated with luxury and consumerism. The plot centres on the romantic entanglements of the idealistic Lydia Languish and her various suitors. It also features one of the most famous comedic characters in English literature, Mrs Malaprop; her tendency to mistakenly use a word in place of a similar sounding one, often to great comic effect, resulted in the term malapropism entering the English language. The play is a robust satire on the artifice, pretension and self-importance of genteel and aristocratic English society.

  The Theatre Royal, Covent Garden in the 1820’s

  An illustration of the Covent Garden Theatre shortly before it burned down in 1808

  Elizabeth Ann Sheridan (née Linley) (1754-1792) by Thomas Gainsborough, 1787

  CONTENTS

  PREFACE

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE

  PROLOGUE BY THE AUTHOR

  ACT I

  Scene I.

  Scene II.

  ACT II

  Scene I.

  Scene II.

  ACT III

  Scene I

  Scene II

  Scene III

  Scene IV

  ACT IV

  Scene I

  Scene II

  Scene III

  ACT V

  Scene I

  Scene II

  Scene III

  A 1795 Drury Lane playbill for the drama

  Photograph of Louisa Lane Drew as Mrs. Malaprop in an all-star revival of ‘The Rivals’ to benefit Charles W. Couldock, May 1895

  Bob Acres and His Servant by Edwin Austin Abbey, c. 1895

  Elsie Leslie as Lydia Languish in ‘The Rivals’, 1899

  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 jud
gment 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?