SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER

OR

THE MISTAKES OF A NIGHT.

A COMEDY BY OLIVER GOLDSMITH

AS ACTED AT THE

THEATRE-ROYAL, COVENT-GARDEN

[First printed in 1773]

DEDICATION

TO SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D.

DEAR SIR,

By inscribing this slight performance to you, I do not mean so much to compliment you as myself. It may do me some honour to inform the public, that I have lived many years in intimacy with you. It may serve the interests of mankind also to inform them, that the greatest wit may be found in a character, without impairing the most unaffected piety.

I have, particularly, reason to thank you for your partiality to this performance. The undertaking a Comedy, not merely sentimental, was very dangerous; and Mr. Colman, who saw this piece in its various stages, always thought it so. However, I ventured to trust it to the public; and, though it was necessarily delayed till late in the season, I have every reason to be grateful. I am,

Dear Sir,

Your most sincere
Friend and admirer,

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

PROLOGUE.

BY DAVID GARRICK, ESQ.

Enter MR. WOODWARD, dressed in black, and holding a Handkerchief to his Eyes.

Excuse me, Sirs, I pray - I can't yet speak

I'm crying now

''Tis not alone this

and have been all the week.

mourning suit,' good masters:

'I've that within ' for which there are no plasters! 5 Pray, would you know the reason why I'm crying? The Comic Muse, long sick, is now a-dying!

And if she goes, my tears will never stop;
For as a play'r, I can't squeeze out one drop;
I am undone, that's all

shall lose my bread

Io I'd rather, but that's nothing - lose my head.
When the sweet maid is laid upon the bier.
Shuter and I shall be chief mourners here.
To her a mawkish drab of spurious breed,
Who deals in Sentimentals, will succeed!
Poor Ned and I are dead to all intents;

15

We can as soon speak Greek as Sentiments!
Both nervous grown, to keep our spirits up,
We now and then take down a hearty cup.
What shall we do? If Comedy forsake us!

20 They'll turn us out, and no one else will take us. But, why can't I be moral?

Let me try

My heart thus pressing-fix'd my face and eye —

With a sententious look, that nothing means, (Faces are blocks in sentimental scenes)

Thus I begin 'All is not gold that glitters,

Pleasures seem sweet, but prove a glass of bitters.
When ign'rance enters, folly is at hand:

Learning is better far than house and land.
Let not your virtue trip, who trips may stumble,
And virtue is not virtue, if she tumble.'

I give it up morals won't do for me;

To make you laugh, I must play tragedy.
One hope remains — hearing the maid was ill,
A Doctor comes this night to show his skill.
To cheer her heart, and give your muscles motion,
He, in Five Draughts prepar'd, presents a potion:
A kind of magic charm for be assur'd,
If you will swallow it, the maid is cur'd:

But desperate the Doctor, and her case is,
If you reject the dose, and make wry faces!
This truth he boasts, will boast it while he lives,
No pois'nous drugs are mix'd in what he gives.
Should he succeed, you'll give him his degree;
If not, within he will receive no fee!

The College you, must his pretensions back,
Pronounce him Regular, or dub him Quack.

5

ΙΟ

15

20