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The Project Gutenberg EBook of She Stoops to Conquer, by Oliver Goldsmith This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: She Stoops to Conquer or, The Mistakes of a Night. A Comedy. Author: Oliver Goldsmith Posting Date: July 11, 2008 [EBook #383] Release Date: December, 1995 Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER *** Produced by G. R. Young "SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER" by Oliver Goldsmith She Stoops To Conquer; Or, The Mistakes Of A Night. A Comedy. 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--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 sentimenta
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