Mrs. Mal. Well, at any rate, I shall be glad to get her from under my intuition. She has somehow discovered my partiality for Sir Lucius O'Trigger—sure, Lucy can't have betrayed me!-No, the girl is such a simpleton, I should have made her confess it.-Lucy!Lucy! (Calls.) Had she been one of your artificial ones, I should never have trusted her.

THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL

RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN

ACT II. SCENE I

(A room in Sir Peter Teazle's house. Enter Sir Peter and Lady Teazle.)

Sir Peter. Lady Teazle, Lady Teazle, I'll not bear it! Lady Teazle. Sir Peter, Sir Peter, you may bear it or not, as you please; but I ought to have my own way in everything, and, what's more, I will too. What! though I was educated in the country, I know very well that women of fashion in London are accountable to nobody after they are married.

Sir P. Very well, ma'am, very well; so a husband is to have no influence, no authority?

Lady T. Authority! No, to be sure.

If you wanted

authority over me, you should have adopted me, and not married me: I am sure you were old enough.

Sir P. Old enough!-ay, there it is. Well, well, Lady Teazle, though my life may be made unhappy by your temper, I'll not be ruined by your extravagance!

Lady T. My extravagance! I'm sure I'm not more extravagant than a woman of fashion ought to be. Sir P. No, no, madam, you shall throw away no more on such unmeaning luxury. 'Slife! to spend as much to furnish your dressing-room with flowers in winter as would suffice to turn the Pantheon into a green-house.

Lady T. Am I to blame, Sir Peter, because flowers are dear in cold weather? You should find fault with the climate, and not with me. For my part, I'm sure I wish it was spring all the year round, and that roses grew under our feet.

Sir P. Oons, madam! if you had been born to this, I shouldn't wonder at your talking thus; but you forget what your situation was when I married you.

Lady T. No, no, I don't; 'twas a very disagreeable one, or I should never have married you.

Sir P. Yes, yes, madam, you were then in somewhat a humbler style,-the daughter of a plain country squire Recollect, Lady Teazle, when I saw you first sitting at your tambour, in a pretty figured linen gown, with a

bunch of keys at your side, your hair combed smooth over a roll, and your apartment hung round with fruits in worsted of your own working.

Lady T. O, yes! I remember it very well, and a curious life I led. My daily occupation was to inspect the dairy, superintend the poultry, make extracts from the family receipt-book, and comb my Aunt Deborah's lap-dog.

Sir P. Yes, yes, madam, 'twas so indeed!

Lady T. And then, you know, my evening amusements: to draw patterns for ruffles, which I had not materials to make up; to play Pope Joan with the curate; to read a novel to my aunt, or to be stuck down to an old spinnet to strum my father to sleep after a foxchase.

Sir P. I am glad you have so good a memory. Yes, madam, these were the recreations I took you from; but now you must have your coach and three powdered footmen before your chair; and, in the summer, a pair of white cats to draw you to Kensington Gardens. No recollection, I suppose, when you were content to ride double, behind the butler, on a docked coach-horse.

Lady T. No, I never did that: I deny the butler and the coach-horse.

Sir P. This, madam, was your situation; and what have I done for you? I have made you a woman of

fashion, of fortune, of rank; in short, I have made you my wife.

Lady T. Well, then, and there is but one thing more you can make me add to the obligation, and that is-Sir P. My widow, I suppose?

Lady T. Hem! hem!

Sir P. I thank you, madam, but don't flatter yourself; for though your ill conduct may disturb my peace of mind, it shall never break my heart, I promise you. However, I am equally obliged to you for the hint.

Lady T. Then why will you endeavor to make yourself so disagreeable to me, and thwart me in every little elegant expense?

Sir P. 'Slife, madam! I say had you any of these little elegant expenses when you married me ?

Lady T. Sir Peter! would you have me out of the fashion?

Sir P. The fashion indeed! What had you to do with the fashion before you married me?

Lady T. For my part, I should think you would like to have your wife thought a woman of taste.

Sir P. Ay, there again! taste! Zounds! madam, you had no taste when you married me!

Lady T. That's very true, indeed, Sir Peter; and after having married you I should never pretend to taste again, I allow. But now, Sir Peter, since we have fin

ished our daily jangle, I presume I may go to my engagement at Lady Sneerwell's?

Sir P. Ay, there's another precious circumstance,-a charming set of acquaintances you have made there!

Lady T. Nay, Sir Peter, they are all people of rank and fortune, and remarkably tenacious of reputation.

Sir P. Yes, they are tenacious of reputation with a vengeance; for they don't choose any body should have a character but themselves. Such a crew! Ah! many a wretch has rid on a hurdle who has done less mischief than these utterers of forged tales, coiners of scandal, and clippers of reputation.

Lady T. What! would you restrain the freedom of speech?

Sir P. Ah! they have made you as bad as any one of the society.

Lady T. Why, I believe I do bear a part with a tolerable grace.

Sir P. Grace, indeed!

Lady T. But I vow I bear no malice against the people I abuse; when I say an ill-natured thing, 'tis out of pure good-humor; and I take it for granted they deal exactly in the same manner with me. But, Sir Peter, you know you promised to come to Lady Sneerwell's too.

Sir P. Well, well, I'll call in, just to look after my own character.