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THE RIVALS

WAS first acted at Covent Garden in 1775, and (from its length) experienced very little short of complete condemnation; the better sense of the town has since made the amende honorable, and it holds its place as a proud specimen of that "legitimate comedy” which modern critics are so much in the habit of deploring the dearth of. It was the author's first production.

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SCENE I. A Street at BATH. Coachman crosses the Stage. Enter FAG, looking after him.

Fug. WHAT! Thomas !-Sure, 'tis he!-What, Thomas! Thomas!

Coachm. Hey! odds life!-Mr. Fag! give us your band, my old fellow-servant!

Fag. Excuse my glove, Thomas; I'm devilish glad to see you, my lad! why, my prince of charioteers, you look as hearty!-but who the deuce thought of seeing you in Bath?

Coachm. Sure, master, madam Julia, Harry, Mrs. Kate, and the postillion be all come.

Fag. Indeed!

Coachm. Ay: master thought another fit of the gout was coming to make him a visit, so he'd a mind to gi't the slip and whip! we were all off at an hour's warning.

Fag. Ay, ay; hasty in every thing, or it would not be sir Anthony Absolute.

Coachm. But tell us, Mr. Fag, how does youug master? Odd, sir Anthony will stare to see the captain here!

Fag. I do not serve captain Absolute now.
Coachm. Why, sure!

Fag. At present, I am employed by ensign Beverley. Coachm. I doubt, Mr. Fag, you ha'n't changed for the better.

Fag. I have not changed, Thomas.

Coachm. No! why, didn't you say yon bad left young master?

Fog. No. Well, bonest Thomas, I must puzzle you no further;-briefly then-captain Absolute and ensign Beverely are one and the same person.

Coachm. The devil they are: do tell us, Mr. Fag, the meaning on't.

Fag You'll be secret, Thomas,

Couchm. As a coach horse.

Fag. Why, then the cause of all this is love,-love, Thomas, who has been a masquerader ever since the days of Jupiter.

Coachm. But, pray, why does your master pass only for ensign?-now, if he had shammed general, indeed

Fag. Ah, Thomas! there lays the mystery o'the matter!-Hark ye, Thomas, my master is in love with a lady of a very singular taste-a lady, who likes him better as a half-pay ensign, than if she knew he was son and heir to sir Anthony Absolute, a baronet of three thousand a year.

Coachm. That is an odd taste indeed! but has she got the stuff, Mr. Fag? is she rich, eh?

Fag. Rich! why, I believe she owns half the stocks! Zs, Thomas, she could pay the national debt as easily as I could my washerwoman!-She has a lapdog that eats out of gold-she feeds her parrot with small pearls, and all her thread-papers are made of bank notes!

Coachm. Bravo, 'faith!-Odd! I warraut she has a set of thousands at least; but does she draw kindly with the captain?

Fag. As fond as pigeons.

Coachm. May one hear her name?

Fag. Miss Lydia Languish ;—but there is an old tough aunt in the way-though, by the by, she has never seen my master-for he got acquainted with miss while on a visit in Gloucestershire.

Coachm. Well, I wish they were once haruessed together in matrimomy. But pray, Mr. Fag, what kind of a place is this Bath? I ha' heard a great deal of it?-bere's a mort o'merry making, eh?

Fag. Pretty well, Thomas, pretty well-'tis a good lounge-but damn the place, I'm tired of it; their regular hours stupify me-not a fiddle or a card after eleven! however, Mr. Faulkland's gentleman and I keep it up a little in private parties;-I'll introduce you there, Thomas, you'll like him much.-But, Thomas, you must polish a little-indeed, you must :Here, now, this wig! what the devil do you do with a wig, Thomas? none of the London whips, of any degree of ton, wear wigs now.

Coachm. More's the pity, more's the pity, I sayOdds life! when I heard how the lawyers and doctors had took to their own hair, I thought how 'twould go next. Odd rabbit it! when the fashion had got foot on the bar, I guessed 'twould mount to the box! but 'tis all out of character, believe me, Mr. Fag: and look ye, I'll never give up mine, the lawyers and doctors may do as they will.

Fag. Well, Thomas, we'll not quarrel about that. But hold, mark-mark, Thomas.

Coachm. Zooks, 'tis the captain! Is that the lady with him?

Fag. No, no, that is madam Lucy, my master's mistress' maid; they lodge at that house-but I must after him, to tell him the news.

Coachm. Odd, he's giving her money!—Well, Mr. Fag

Fag. Good bye, Thomas; I have an appointment in

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