She Stoops to Conquer is a comedy by the Irish author Oliver Goldsmith, son of an Anglo-Irish vicar, first performed in London in 1773.

The play is a great favourite for study by English literature and theatre classes in Britain and the United States. It is one of the few plays from the 18th century to have an enduring appeal, and is still regularly performed today. It has been adapted into a film several times, including in 1914 and 1923.

Initially the play was titled Mistakes of a Night, and indeed the events within the play happen during the very limited time frame of one night.

ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE—A Chamber in an old-fashioned House.
Enter MRS. HARDCASTLE and MR. HARDCASTLE.

MRS. HARDCASTLE. I vow, Mr. Hardcastle, you’re very particular. Is there a creature in the whole country but ourselves, that does not take a trip to town now and then, to rub off the rust a little? There’s the two Miss Hoggs, and our neighbour Mrs. Grigsby, go to take a month’s polishing every winter.

HARDCASTLE. Ay, and bring back vanity and affectation to last them the whole year. I wonder why London cannot keep its own fools at home! In my time, the follies of the town crept slowly among us, but now they travel faster than a stagecoach. Its fopperies come down not only as inside passengers, but in the very basket.

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She Stoops to Conquer; or, the Mistakes of a Night by Oliver Goldsmith, the Pennsylvania State University, Electronic Classics Series, Jim Manis, Faculty Editor, Hazleton, PA 18201-1291 is a Portable Document File produced as part of an ongoing student publication project to bring classical works of literature, in English, to free and easy access of those wishing to make use of them.

Cover Design: Jim Manis
Copyright © 2000 The Pennsylvania State University
The Pennsylvania State University is an equal opportunity university.

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—and have been all the week. “’Tis not alone this mourning suit,” good masters: “I’ve that within”—for which there are no plasters! 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 player, I can’t squeeze out one drop: I am undone, that’s all—shall lose my bread— 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; 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, 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—fixed 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, “Pleasure seems sweet, but proves a glass of bitters. “When Ignorance 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 poisonous drugs are mixed 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.

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