RIP. Drown my sorrows? Ya, dat's all very well, but she don'd drown. My wife is my sorrow und you can't drown her; she tried it once, but she couldn't do it. What, didn't you hear about dat, de day what Gretchen she like to got drownded? Ach, my; dat's de funniest ting in de world. I'll tell you all about it. It was de same day what we got married. I bet I don'd forget dat day so long what I live. You know dat Hudson River what dey git dem boats over place. Well, you know dat boat what Gretchen she was a-goin' to come over in, dat got upsetted ya, just went righd by der

well, dat's de same

boddom. But she wasn't in de boat. Oh, no; if she had been in de boat, well, den, maybe she might have got drownded. You can't tell anyting at all about a ting like dat!

VON B. Ah, no; but I'm sure, Rip, if Gretchen were to fall

into the water now, you would risk your life to save her.

RIP. Would I? Well, I am not so sure about dat myself.

When we was first got married? Oh, ya; I know I would have done it den, but I don'd know how it would be now. But it would be a good deal more my duty now as it was den. Don'd you know, Derrick, when a man gits married a long timemit his wife, he gits a good deal attached mit her, und it would be a good deal more my duty now as it was den. But I don'd know, Derrick. I am afraid if Gretchen should fall in de water now und should say, "Rip, Rip! help me oud" — I should say, "Mrs. Van Winkle, I will just go home and tink about it.” Oh, no, Derrick; if Gretchen fall in de water now she's got to swim, I told you dat-ha, ha, ha, ha! Hullo! dat's her a-comin' now; I guess it's bedder I go oud!

ACT II, SCENE I

[Exit RIP.

CHARACTERS: Rip Van Winkle; Gretchen, his wife; Meenie, their little daughter.

SCENE: The dimly lighted kitchen of Rip's cottage. Shortly after his conversation with Von Beekman, Rip's wife catches him carousing and dancing upon the village green. She drives him away in no

very gentle fashion, and he runs away from her only to carouse the more. Returning home after nightfall in a decidedly muddled condition, he puts his head through the open window at the rear, not observing his irate wife, who stands in ambush behind the clothes-bars with her ever-ready broomstick, to give him a warm reception, but seeing only his little daughter Meenie, of whom he is very fond, and who also loves him very tenderly.

RIP. Meenie! Meenie, my darlin'!

MEENIE. Hush-sh-h. [Shaking finger, to indicate the presence of her mother.]

RIP. Eh! what's de matter? I don'd see not'ing, my darlin'. MEENIE. 'Sh-sh-sh!

RIP. Eh! what? Say, Meenie, is de ole wild cat home? [GRETCHEN catches him quickly by the hair.] Oh, oh! say, is dat you, Gretchen? Say, dere, my darlin', my angel, don'd do dat. Let go my head, won'd you? Well, den, hold on to it so long what you like. [GRETCHEN releases him.] Dere, now, look at dat, see what you done you gone pull out a whole handful of hair. What you want to do a ting like dat for? You must want a bald-headed husband, don'd you?

GRETCHEN. Who was that you called a wild cat?

RIP. Who was dat I called a wild cat? Well, now, let me see, who was dat I called a wild cat? Dat must 'a' been de same time I come in de winder dere, wasn't it? Yes, I know, it was de same time. Well, now, let me see. [Suddenly.] It was de dog Schneider dat I call it.

That's a likely story.

GRETCHEN. The dog Schneider? RIP. Why, of course it is a likely story ain't he my dog? Well, den, I call him a wild cat just so much what I like, so dere now. [Gretchen begins to weep.] Oh, well; dere, now, don'd you cry, don'd you cry, Gretchen; you hear what I said? Lisden now. If you don'd I nefer drink anoder drop of liquor

in my life.

cry,

GRETCHEN [crying]. Oh, Rip! you have said so many, many times, and you never kept your word yet.

RIP. Well, I say it dis time, and I mean it.

GRETCHEN. Oh, Rip! if I could only trust you.

RIP. You mustn't suspect me. Can't you see repentance in my eye?

GRETCHEN. Rip, if you will only keep your word, I shall be the happiest woman in the world.

RIP. You can believe it. I nefer drink anoder drop so long what I live, if you don'd cry.

GRETCHEN. Oh, Rip, how happy we shall be! And you'll get back all the village, Rip, just as you used to have it; and you'll fix up our little house so nicely; and you and I, and our little darling Meenie, here - how happy we shall be!

RIP. Dere, now! you can be just so happy what you like. Go in de odder room, go along mit you; I come in dere pooty quick. [Exit GRETCHEN and MEENIE.] My! I swore off from drinkin' so many, many times, and I never kept my word yet. [Taking out bottle.] I don'd believe dere is more as one good drink in dat bottle, anyway. It's a pity to waste it! You goin' to drink dat? Well, now, if you do, it is de last one, remember dat, old feller.

Well, here is your goot held, und —

Enter GRETCHEN, suddenly, who snatches the bottle from him. GRETCHEN. Oh, you brute! you paltry thief!

RIP. Hold on dere, my dear, you will spill de liquor.

GRETCHEN. Yes, I will spill it, you drunken scoundrel. [Throwing away the bottle.] That's the last drop you ever drink under this roof.

RIP [slowly, after a moment's silence, as if stunned by her severity]. Eh! what?

GRETCHEN. Out, I say! you drink no more here.

RIP. What? Gretchen, are you goin' to drive me away? GRETCHEN. Yes! Acre by acre, foot by foot, you have sold everything that ever belonged to you for liquor. Thank Heaven, this house is mine, and you can't sell it.

RIP [rapidly sobering, as he begins to realize the gravity

of the situation]. Yours? Yours? Ya, you are right — it is yours; I have got no home. [In broken tones, almost sobbing.] But where will I go?

GRETCHEN. Anywhere! out into the storm, to the mountains. There's the door - · never let your face darken it again.

RIP. What, Gretchen! are you goin' to drive me away like a dog on a night like dis?

GRETCHEN. Yes; out with you! You have no longer a share in me or mine. [Breaking down and sobbing with the intensity of her passion.]

RIP [very slowly and quietly, but with great intensity]. Well, den, I will go; you have drive me away like a dog, Gretchen, and I will go. But remember, Gretchen, after what you have told me here to-night, I can never come back. You have open de door for me to go; you will never open it for me to return. But, Gretchen, you tell me dat I have no longer a chare here. [Points at the child, who kneels crying at his feet.] Good-by [with much emotion], my darlin'. God bless you! Don'd you nefer forgit your fader. Gretchen (with a great sob), I wipe de disgrace from your door. Good-by, good-by! [Exit RIP into the storm.

THE RIVALS

RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN

ACT I, SCENE II

CHARACTERS: Mrs. Malaprop, with her bad grammar and ludicrous diction; Lydia Languish, in love with Beverley; Sir Anthony Absolute, choleric, but kind-hearted.

SCENE: A dressing room in Mrs. Malaprop's lodgings.

Enter MRS. MALAPROP, LYDIA, and SIR ANTHONY

MRS. MALAPROP. There, Sir Anthony, there stands the deliberate simpleton, who wants to disgrace her family and lavish herself on a fellow not worth a shilling.

LYDIA. Madam, I thought you once

MRS. M. You thought, miss! I don't know any business you have to think at all: thought does not become a young woman. But the point we would request of you is, that you will promise to forget this fellow-to illiterate him, I say, from your memory.

LYD. Ah, madam! our memories are independent of our wills. It is not so easy to forget.

MRS. M. But I say it is, miss! there is nothing on earth so easy as to forget, if a person chooses to set about it. I'm sure I have as much forgot your poor dear uncle, as if he had never existed; and I thought it my duty so to do; and let me tell you, Lydia, these violent memories don't become a young woman.

LYD What crime, madam, have I committed, to be treated thus?

MRS. M. Now don't attempt to extirpate yourself from the matter; you know I have proof controvertible of it. But tell me, will you promise me to do as you are bid? Will you take a husband of your friend's choosing?

LYD. Madam, I must tell you plainly, that, had I no preference for any one else, the choice you have made would be my aversion.

MRS. M. What business have you, miss, with preference and aversion? They don't become a young woman. But, suppose we were going to give you another choice, will you promise us to give up this Beverley?

LYD. Could I belie my thoughts so far as to give that promise, my actions would certainly as far belie my words.

MRS. M. Take yourself to your room! pany for nothing but your own ill humors.

You are fit com

[Exit.

LYD. Willingly, ma'am; I cannot change for the worse. MRS. M. There's a little intricate hussy for you! SIR A. It is not to be wondered at, ma'am; all that is the natural consequence of teaching girls to read. On my way