THE RIVALS.

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE I.

A Street at Bath.

COACHMAN crosses the Stage.-Enter FAG, looking after him.

Fag. What! Thomas! Sure, 'tis he!-What! Tho mas! Thomas!

Coachm. Hey! odd's life!-Mr. Fag! give us your hand, 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 we're all off at an hour's warning.

appeared there, in various dramas, many a time since. But where can Sir Peter and Lady Teazle, where can the Surface family be found, either in original or copy, except in "The School for Scanda] ?” Where can be traced the plot or events of that extraordinary play, or where even the shadows of them?

The perpetual flow of wit in" The School for Scandal" may familiarise it so much with some auditors, that they cannot be made sensible of its perfect enjoyment. Whereas, the sprinkling of wit and repartee with which "The Rivals" is occasionally enlivened, is easily distinguished, and more eagerly received, in consequence of its inferior pages.

Sir Anthony Absolute is generally counted the most prominent, though Faulkland is, no doubt, the most original, character in the comedy. One particular circumstance adds extreme interest to this part. It is supposed, by the author's most intimate friends, that, in delineating Faulkland, he took a discerning view of his own disposition, in all the anxious tenderness of a youthful lover; and has here accurately described every sentiment, every feeling, which, at that trying period of his life, agitated his troubled heart. The very town of Bath, just before the writing of this play, had been the identical scene of all his restless hopes and fears.

The impressive language, the refined notions, the enthusiastic, yet natural, passion of Faulkland for Julia, with all the captivating charms of mind and expression which has been here given to this object of adoration, are positive vouchers that some very ex

alted idea of the force of love, if not its immediate power, over himself, had at that time possession of the poet's fancy.

With all his gifts of eloquence in writing the dialogue of these lovers, Mr. Sheridan was, however, at a loss for circumstances to incite them to speak; and, in that most interesting scene in the fourth act, he has borrowed his incident from the tale of Prior's "Nut-brown Maid."

The character of Lydia Languish is so justly drawn, that its only fault is, the want of stronger features: circumstances are deficient, in making her an example of proper importance to romantic ladies. Accidents might have been invented, that would have rendered her a much more pointed mark for ridicule.

Against the illiterate Mrs. Malaprop, common occurrence, and common sense, protest. That any English woman, for these five hundred years past, in the habit of keeping good company, or any company, could have made use of the words—extirpate for exculpate, exhort for escort, and malevolence for benevolence, seems too far removed from probability, to make a reasonable auditor smile.

When future generations shall naturally suppose, that an author of Mr. Sheridan's reputation drew men and women exactly as he found them; this sketch of a woman of family and fortune, at the end of the eighteenth century, will assure the said generationsthat the advance of female knowledge in Great Britain, was far more tardy, than in any other European nation.

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

Coachm. But tell us, Mr. Fag, how does young 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 han't changed for the better.

Fag. I have not changed, Thomas.

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

Fag. No. Well, honest Thomas, I must puzzle you no farther;-briefly then-Captain Absolute and Ensign Beverley are one and the same person.

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!-Harkye, 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! -Z- -s, 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 warrant 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 bye, 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 harnessed together in matrimony. But, pray, Mr. Fag, what kind of a place is this Bath? I ha' heard a great deal of it; here'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 say-Odds 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 lookye, I'll never gi' up mine, the lawyers, and doctors, may do as they will.

Fag. Well, Thomas, we'll not quarrel about that.

Coachm. Why, bless you, the gentlemen of they professions ben't all of a mind,- for in our village now, thoff Jack Gauge, the exciseman, has ta'en to his carrots, there's little Dick, the farrier, swears he'll never forsake his bob, though all the college should appear with their own heads!

Fag. Indeed! well said, Dick! but hold, markmark, Thomas.

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