Soon shall he hush his cares to rest;
Clasp’d in these arms, forget wars alarms,
For a soldier, a soldier’s the lad for me.
L. Plume.
Now Nancy, you must be ruled by us.
Nancy.
As I live there’s my dear William!
L. Plume.
Turn from him — you must.
Nancy.
O, I shall discover myself — I tremble so unlike a soldier.
Enter NELL with WILLIAM.
Nell.
Why I tell you, William, the ladies want to ask you some questions.
Sir Harry.
Honest corporal, here’s a little recruit, son to a tenant of mine, and, as I am told, you are an intelligent young fellow, I mean to put him under your care.
Will.
What that boy, your honour? Lord bless you sir, I shall never be able to make any thing of him.
Nancy.
(aside.)
I am sorry for that.
L. Sash.
Nay corporal, he’s very young,
Will.
He is under-size, my lady, such a stripling is fitter for a drummer than a rank and file.
Sir Harry.
But he’s straight and well made.
Nancy.
I wish I was ordered to right about.
Will.
Well I’ll do all in my power to oblige your ladyship. Come youngster, turn about — ah, Nelly! — tell me, is’t not she?
Sir Harry.
Why don’t you march him off?
Nell.
Is he undersize corporal? O, you block-head!
Nancy.
O ladies pray excuse me! — My dear William!
(runs in his arms.
Nell.
They’ll never be able to come to an explanation before your ladyships — Go, go and talk by yourselves.
(they retire up the stage.
Enter SERJEANT, two COUNTRYMEN, Fife &c.
Ser.
Please your ladyships, we have taken a sort of a spy this morning, who has the assurance to deny it, tho’ he confesses himself an Irish painter. I have undertaken however to bring this letter from him to lady Sarah Sash.
Sir. Harry.
What appears against him?
Ser.
A great many suspicious circumstances, please your honour; he has an O before his name, and we took him with a draught of the camp in his hand.
L. Sash.
Ha, ha ha! this is ridiculous enough, ’tis O Daub, the Irish painter, who diverted us sometime ago at the Fete-Champetre. Honest serjeant we’ll see your prisoner, and I fancy you may release him.
Sir Harry.
Pray serjeant what’s to be done this evening?
Ser.
The line, your honour, turns out, and as there are pleasure tents pitched, perhaps the ladies will condescend to hear a march and chorus, which some recruits are practising against his majesty comes to the camp.
L. Sash.
Come Sir Harry, you’ll grow fond of a camp life yet.
Sir Harry.
Your ladyships will grow tired of it first I’ll answer for it.
L. Sash.
No, no.
Sir Harry.
Yes, on the first bad weather you’ll give orders to strike your tents and toilets, and secure a retreat at Tunbridge.
A march while the scene changes to a View of the Camp.
FINALE.
SERJEANT.
While the loud voice of war resounds from afar,
Songs of duty and triumph we’ll pay;
When our Monarch appears, we’ll give him three cheers,
With huzza! huzza! huzza!
NANCY.
Ye sons of the field, whose bright valour’s your shield,
Love and beauty your toils shall repay;
Inspir’d by the charms, of wars fierce alarms,
Huzza! huzza! huzza!
WILLIAM.
Inspir’d by my love all dangers I’ll prove,
No perils shall William dismay;
In wars fierce alarms, inspir’d by those charms,
Huzza! huzza! huzza!
CHORUS.
May true glory still wave her bright banners around,
Still with fame, pow’r & freedom old England be crown’d.
FINIS.
THE CRITIC
First performed at the Drury Lane Theatre on 30 October 1779, The Critic was only completed a few days before it premiered. The major inspiration for the work was George Villiers’, The Rehearsal. Villiers’ 1671 play was a satire of the pompous and overly ambitious nature of Restoration tragedy. Villiers lampoons the staging of a play, which largely consists of excerpts of existing heroic dramas. The obvious target of the satire was John Dryden, who was famous for having defined ‘heroic drama’ in the preface to his play, The Conquest of Grenada. Villiers’ attack did not go unnoticed by Dryden, who retaliated by depicting him as ‘Zimri’, the disloyal servant, in his allegorical poem, Absalom and Achitophel. While Sheridan’s play is a satire on theatre conventions in general, he did take the opportunity to specifically ridicule the writer and dramatist, Richard Cumberland, by basing the overly sensitive, talentless and vain, Sir Fretful Plagiary on him.
The Critic satirises fretful actors, self-important critics, playwrights that cannot tolerate criticism and absurd directors. The play begins with the critics Mr Dangle and Mr Sneer dissecting the faults of modern theatre, before they attend the rehearsal of Mr Puff’s new historical tragedy, The Spanish Armada. The rest of The Critic focuses on the rehearsals of Puff’s ludicrous play, his battles with actors, who keep cutting scenes and his absurd defensiveness over any queries about the quality of his writing or the production. Sheridan’s work has been performed and adapted frequently since the start of the twentieth century. There was Herbert Beerbohm Tree’s 1911 production, starring George Alexander, Cecil Armstrong and Arthur Bourchier; a 1946 version starring Laurence Olivier and a 1982 BBC production starring Hywel Bennett.
Mr Terry as Sir Fretful Plagiary, 1821
CONTENTS
THE CRITIC; OR, A TRAGEDY REHEARSED A DRAMATIC PIECE IN THREE ACTS TO MRS. GREVILLE
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
CHARACTERS OF THE TRAGEDY
PROLOGUE BY THE HONOURABLE RICHARD FITZPATRICK
ACT I.
SCENE I.
SCENE II.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
SCENE II.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
Poet and playwright, John Dryden by John Michael Wright, 1668
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 —
Delphi Complete Works of Richard Brinsley Sheridan Page 38
