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+\documentclass{book}
+\usepackage[pagestyles,outermarks,clearempty]{titlesec}[2005/01/22 v2.6]
+\usepackage{titletoc}[2005/01/22 v1.5]
+\usepackage[repeat]{drama}
+\usepackage{example}
+
+\TextHeight {6in}
+\TextWidth {4.5in}
+
+\nonfrenchspacing
+\hfuzz 1pt
+
+\newpagestyle {MainMatterPage} {
+ \sethead [\arabic{page}]
+ [\small \textsc{oscar wilde}]
+ []
+ {}
+ {\small \textsc{the importance of being earnest}}
+ {\arabic{page}}
+}
+
+\Forma \personae {\hangafter 1 \hangindent 1em}
+\Facies {\textsc{\MakeLowercase{#1}}{#2}:%
+ \hskip .5em plus .25em minus .125em %
+ \\
+ \textsc{\MakeLowercase{#1}}}
+\SpatiumSupra {.3ex plus .1ex}
+
+\Facies \[ {[\textit{#1\/}]}
+\Forma {\parindent 1em}
+\SpatiumAnte {.5em plus .25em minus .125em}
+\SpatiumPost {.5em plus .25em minus .125em}
+\SpatiumSupra {1ex }
+\SpatiumInfra {.67ex}
+
+\Facies \( {\itshape}
+\SpatiumSupra {2ex}
+\SpatiumInfra {1ex}
+
+\Novus \titulus \Act
+\Facies {\newpage\thispagestyle{empty}%
+ \Rule [parallel, Height = 2pt]%
+ \vskip 8ex %
+ \Nact*{=+1} \LetterSpace{ACT}}
+\SpatiumInfra {5ex}
+
+\Novus \numerus \Nact
+\Facies {\ordinal {#1}\LETTERspace{\theordinal}}
+
+\Novus \titulus \Scene
+\Facies {\RelSize{1}\textsc{\LetterSpace{scene}}}
+\SpatiumInfra {.5\leading}
+
+\begin{document}
+
+\ExampleTitle {OSCAR WILDE}{The Importance of\\[.5ex] Being Earnest}
+ {Plays\\[1ex]Penguin Books, 1954}
+
+\begingroup
+
+\SpatiumSupra \titulus {6\leading}
+\Facies {\scshape #1}
+\SpatiumInfra \\{1ex}
+
+\titulus {to\\ robert baldwin ross\\ in appreciation\\ and\\ affection\\*}
+
+\cleardoublepage
+\thispagestyle{empty}
+
+\titulus {\textit{The Persons of the Play}\\[4ex]
+john worthing, j.p.\\
+algernon montcrieff \\
+rev. canon chasuble, d.d.\\
+merriman, \textit{Butler}\\
+lane, \textit{Manservant}\\
+lady bracknell\\
+hon. gwendolen fairfax\\
+cecily cardew\\
+miss prism, \textit{Governess}
+}
+
+\endgroup
+
+\newpage
+\thispagestyle{empty}
+
+\Drama
+
+\persona*[1]{jack}
+\persona*[2]{algernon}
+\persona*[3]{lady bracknell}
+\persona*[4]{gwendolen}
+\persona*[5]{cecily}
+\persona*[6]{miss prism}
+\persona*[7]{chasuble\\canon chasuble}
+\persona*[8]{lane}
+
+\pagestyle {MainMatterPage}
+
+\Act \Scene
+
+
+\(Morning-room in Algernon's flat in Half-Moon Street.
+ The room is luxuriously and artistically furnished. The sound
+ of a piano is heard in the adjoining room.\)
+
+\[\8 is arranging afternoon tea on the table, and after the music
+ has ceased, \2 enters\]
+
+\2 Did you hear what I was playing, Lane?
+\8 I didn't think it polite to listen, sir.
+\2 I'm sorry for that, for your sake. I don't play
+accurately \textemdash any one can play accurately \textemdash but I play with
+wonderful expression.
+As far as the piano is concerned, sentiment
+is my forte. I keep science for Life.
+\8 Yes, sir.
+\2 And, speaking of the science of Life, have you got the
+cucumber sandwiches cut for Lady Bracknell?
+\8 Yes, sir. \[Hands them on a salver\]
+\2 \[Inspects them, takes two, and sits down on the sofa\]
+Oh! \ldots{} by the way, Lane, I see from your book that on Thursday
+night, when Lord Shoreman and Mr. Worthing were dining with me,
+eight bottles of champagne are entered as having been consumed.
+\8 Yes, sir; eight bottles and a pint.
+
+\2 Why is it that at a bachelor's establishment the
+servants invariably drink the champagne? I ask merely for
+information.
+
+\8 I attribute it to the superior quality of the wine, sir. I
+have often observed that in married households the champagne is
+rarely of a first-rate brand.
+\2 Good heavens! Is marriage so demoralising as that?
+
+\8 I believe it \textit{is} a very pleasant state, sir. I have had very
+little experience of it myself up to the present. I have only been
+married once. That was in consequence of a misunderstanding
+between myself and a young person.
+
+\2 \[languidly\] I don't know that I am much interested in
+your family life, Lane.
+
+\8 No, sir; it is not a very interesting subject. I never
+think of it myself.
+
+\2 Very natural, I am sure. That will do, Lane, thank you.
+
+\8 Thank you, sir.
+
+\[c]\8 goes out\]
+
+\2 Lanes views on marriage seem somewhat lax. Really, if
+the lower orders don't set us a good example, what on earth is the
+use of them? They seem, as a class, to have absolutely no sense of
+moral responsibility.
+
+\[c]Enter \8\]
+
+\8 Mr. Ernest Worthing.
+
+\[c]Enter \1. \8 goes out\]
+
+\2 How are you, my dear Ernest? What brings you up to
+town?
+
+\1 Oh, pleasure, pleasure! What else should bring one
+anywhere? Eating as usual, I see, Algy!
+
+\2 \[stiffly\] I believe it is customary in good society to
+take some slight refreshment at five o'clock. Where have you been
+since last Thursday?
+
+\1 \[sitting down on the sofa\] In the country.
+
+\2 What on earth do you do there?
+
+\1 \[pulling off his gloves\] When one is in town one amuses oneself.
+When one is in the country one amuses other people. It is excessively
+boring.
+
+\2 And who are the people you amuse?
+
+\1 \[airily\] Oh, neighbours, neighbours.
+
+\2 Got nice neighbours in your part of Shropshire?
+
+\1 Perfectly horrid! Never speak to one of them.
+
+\2 How immensely you must amuse them \[Goes over and takes
+sandwich\] By the way, Shropshire is your county, is it
+not?
+
+\1 Eh? Shropshire? Yes, of course. Hallo! Why all these
+cups? Why cucumber sandwiches? Why such reckless extravagance in
+one so young? Who is coming to tea?
+
+\2 Oh! merely Aunt Augusta and Gwendolen.
+
+\1 How perfectly delightful!
+
+\2 Yes, that is all very well; but I am afraid Aunt Augusta
+won't quite approve of your being here.
+
+\1 May I ask why?
+
+\2 My dear fellow, the way you flirt with Gwendolen is
+perfectly disgraceful. It is almost as bad as the way Gwendolen
+flirts with you.
+
+\1 I am in love with Gwendolen. I have come up to town
+expressly to propose to her.
+
+\2 I thought you had come up for pleasure? \ldots{} I call
+that business.
+
+\1 How utterly unromantic you are!
+
+\2 I really don't see anything romantic in proposing. It
+is very romantic to be in love. But there is nothing romantic
+about a definite proposal. Why, one may be accepted. One usually
+is, I believe. Then the excitement is all over. The very essence
+of romance is uncertainty. If ever I get married, I'll certainly
+try to forget the fact.
+
+\1 I have no doubt about that, dear Algy. The Divorce Court
+was specially invented for people whose memories are so curiously
+constituted.
+
+\2 Oh! there is no use speculating on that subject.
+Divorces are made in Heaven \textendash\,\textendash \[\1 puts out his hand to take a
+sandwich. \2 at once interferes\] Please don't touch the
+cucumber sandwiches. They are ordered specially for Aunt Augusta.
+\[Takes one and eats it\]
+
+\1 Well, you have been eating them all the time.
+
+\2 That is quite a different matter. She is my aunt.
+\[Takes plate from below\] Have some bread and butter. The bread
+and butter is for Gwendolen. Gwendolen is devoted to bread and
+butter.
+
+\1 \[advancing to table and helping himself\] And very good
+bread and butter it is too.
+
+\2 Well, my dear fellow, you need not eat as if you were
+going to eat it all. You behave as if you were married to her
+already. You are not married to her already, and I don't think you
+ever will be.
+
+\1 Why on earth do you say that?
+
+\2 Well, in the first place girls never marry the men they
+flirt with. Girls don't think it right.
+
+\1 Oh, that is nonsense!
+
+\2 It isn't. It is a great truth. It accounts for the
+extraordinary number of bachelors that one sees all over the place.
+In the second place, I don't give my consent.
+
+\1 Your consent!
+
+\2 My dear fellow, Gwendolen is my first cousin. And
+before I allow you to marry her, you will have to clear up the
+whole question of Cecily. \[r]Rings bell\]
+
+\1 Cecily! What on earth do you mean? What do you mean, Algy,
+by Cecily! I don't know any one of the name of Cecily.
+
+\[c]Enter \8\]
+
+\2 Bring me that cigarette case Mr. Worthing left in the
+smoking-room the last time he dined here.
+
+\8 Yes, sir.
+
+\[c]\8 goes out\]
+
+\1 Do you mean to say you have had my cigarette case all this
+time? I wish to goodness you had let me know. I have been writing
+frantic letters to Scotland Yard about it. I was very nearly
+offering a large reward.
+
+\2 Well, I wish you would offer one. I happen to be more
+than usually hard up.
+
+\1 There is no good offering a large reward now that the thing
+is found.
+
+\[c]Enter \8 with the cigarette case on a salver. \\\2 takes it
+at once. \8 goes out\]
+
+\2 I think that is rather mean of you, Ernest, I must say.
+\[Opens case and examines it\] However, it makes no matter, for,
+now that I look at the inscription inside, I find that the thing
+isn't yours after all.
+
+\1 Of course it's mine. \[Moving to him\] You have seen me
+with it a hundred times, and you have no right whatsoever to read
+what is written inside. It is a very ungentlemanly thing to read a
+private cigarette case.
+
+\2 Oh! it is absurd to have a hard and fast rule about what
+one should read and what one shouldn't. More than half of modern
+culture depends on what one shouldn't read.
+
+\1 I am quite aware of the fact, and I don't propose to discuss
+modern culture. It isn't the sort of thing one should talk of in
+private. I simply want my cigarette case back.
+
+\2 Yes; but this isn't your cigarette case. This cigarette
+case is a present from some one of the name of Cecily, and you said
+you didn't know any one of that name.
+
+\1 Well, if you want to know, Cecily happens to be my aunt.
+
+\2 Your aunt!
+
+\1 Yes. Charming old lady she is, too. Lives at Tunbridge
+Wells. Just give it back to me, Algy.
+
+\2 \[retreating to back of sofa\] But why does she call
+herself little Cecily if she is your aunt and lives at Tunbridge
+Wells? \[Reading\] `From little Cecily with her fondest love.'
+
+\1 \[moving to sofa and kneeling upon it\] My dear fellow, what
+on earth is there in that? Some aunts are tall, some aunts are not
+tall. That is a matter that surely an aunt may be allowed to
+decide for herself. You seem to think that every aunt should be
+exactly like your aunt! That is absurd! For Heaven's sake give me
+back my cigarette case. \[Follows \2 round the room\]
+
+\2 Yes. But why does your aunt call you her uncle? `From
+little Cecily, with her fondest love to her dear Uncle Jack.'
+There is no objection, I admit, to an aunt being a small aunt, but
+why an aunt, no matter what her size may be, should call her own
+nephew her uncle, I can't quite make out. Besides, your name isn't
+Jack at all; it is Ernest.
+
+\1 It isn't Ernest; it's Jack.
+
+\2 You have always told me it was Ernest. I have
+introduced you to every one as Ernest. You answer to the name of
+Ernest. You look as if your name was Ernest. You are the most
+earnest-looking person I ever saw in my life. It is perfectly
+absurd your saying that your name isn't Ernest. It's on your
+cards. Here is one of them. \[Taking it from case\] 'Mr. Ernest
+Worthing, B. 4, The Albany.' I'll keep this as a proof that your
+name is Ernest if ever you attempt to deny it to me, or to
+Gwendolen, or to any one else. \[Puts the card in his pocket\]
+
+\1 Well, my name is Ernest in town and Jack in the country, and
+the cigarette case was given to me in the country.
+
+\2 Yes, but that does not account for the fact that your
+small Aunt Cecily, who lives at Tunbridge Wells, calls you her dear
+uncle. Come, old boy, you had much better have the thing out at
+once.
+
+\1 My dear Algy, you talk exactly as if you were a dentist. It
+is very vulgar to talk like a dentist when one isn't a dentist. It
+produces a false impression,
+
+\2 Well, that is exactly what dentists always do. Now, go
+on! Tell me the whole thing. I may mention that I have always
+suspected you of being a confirmed and secret Bunburyist; and I am
+quite sure of it now.
+
+\1 Bunburyist? What on earth do you mean by a Bunburyist?
+
+\2 I'll reveal to you the meaning of that incomparable
+expression as soon as you are kind enough to inform me why you are
+Ernest in town and Jack in the country.
+
+\1 Well, produce my cigarette case first.
+
+\2 Here it is. \[Hands cigarette case\] Now produce your
+explanation, and pray make it improbable. \[Sits on sofa\]
+
+\1 My dear fellow, there is nothing improbable about my
+explanation at all. In fact it's perfectly ordinary. Old Mr.
+Thomas Cardew, who adopted me when I was a little boy, made me in
+his will guardian to his grand-daughter, Miss Cecily Cardew.
+Cecily, who addresses me as her uncle from motives of respect that
+you could not possibly appreciate, lives at my place in the country
+under the charge of her admirable governess, Miss Prism.
+
+\2 Where in that place in the country, by the way?
+
+\1 That is nothing to you, dear boy. You are not going to be
+invited \ldots{} I may tell you candidly that the place is not in
+Shropshire.
+
+\2 I suspected that, my dear fellow! I have Bunburyed all
+over Shropshire on two separate occasions. Now, go on. Why are
+you Ernest in town and Jack in the country?
+
+\1 My dear Algy, I don't know whether you will be able to
+understand my real motives. You are hardly serious enough. When
+one is placed in the position of guardian, one has to adopt a very
+high moral tone on all subjects. It's one's duty to do so. And as
+a high moral tone can hardly be said to conduce very much to either
+one's health or one's happiness, in order to get up to town I have
+always pretended to have a younger brother of the name of Ernest,
+who lives in the Albany, and gets into the most dreadful scrapes.
+That, my dear Algy, is the whole truth pure and simple.
+
+\2 The truth is rarely pure and never simple. Modern life
+would be very tedious if it were either, and modern literature a
+complete impossibility!
+
+\1 That wouldn't be at all a bad thing.
+
+\2 Literary criticism is not your forte, my dear fellow.
+Don't try it. You should leave that to people who haven't been at
+a University. They do it so well in the daily papers. What you
+really are is a Bunburyist. I was quite right in saying you were a
+Bunburyist. You are one of the most advanced Bunburyists I know.
+
+\1 What on earth do you mean?
+
+\2 You have invented a very useful younger brother called
+Ernest, in order that you may be able to come up to town as often
+as you like. I have invented an invaluable permanent invalid
+called Bunbury, in order that I may be able to go down into the
+country whenever I choose. Bunbury is perfectly invaluable. If it
+wasn't for Bunbury's extraordinary bad health, for instance, I
+wouldn't be able to dine with you at Willis's to-night, for I have
+been really engaged to Aunt Augusta for more than a week.
+
+\1 I haven't asked you to dine with me anywhere to-night.
+
+\2 I know. You are absurdly careless about sending out
+invitations. It is very foolish of you. Nothing annoys people so
+much as not receiving invitations.
+
+\1 You had much better dine with your Aunt Augusta.
+
+\2 I haven't the smallest intention of doing anything of
+the kind. To begin with, I dined there on Monday, and once a week
+is quite enough to dine with one's own relations. In the second
+place, whenever I do dine there I am always treated as a member of
+the family, and sent down with either no woman at all, or two. In
+the third place, I know perfectly well whom she will place me next
+to, to-night. She will place me next Mary Farquhar, who always
+flirts with her own husband across the dinner-table. That is not
+very pleasant. Indeed, it is not even decent \ldots{} and that sort
+of thing is enormously on the increase. The amount of women in
+London who flirt with their own husbands is perfectly scandalous.
+It looks so bad. It in simply washing one's clean linen in public.
+Besides, now that I know you to be a confirmed Bunburyist I
+naturally want to talk to you about Bunburying. I want to tell you
+the rules.
+
+\1 I'm not a Bunburyist at all. If Gwendolen accepts me, I am
+going to kill my brother, indeed I think I'll kill him in any case.
+Cecily is a little too much interested in him. It is rather a
+bore. So I am going to get rid of Ernest. And I strongly advise
+you to do the same with Mr \ldots{} with your invalid friend who has
+the absurd name.
+
+\2 Nothing will induce me to part with Bunbury, and if you
+ever get married, which seems to me extremely problematic, you will
+be very glad to know Bunbury. A man who marries without knowing
+Bunbury has a very tedious time of it.
+
+\1 That is nonsense. If I marry a charming girl like
+Gwendolen, and she is the only girl I ever saw in my life that I
+would marry, I certainly won't want to know Bunbury.
+
+\2 Then your wife will. You don't seem to realise, that in
+married life three is company and two is none.
+
+\1 \[sententiously\] That, my dear young friend, is the theory
+that the corrupt French Drama has been propounding for the last
+fifty years.
+
+\2 Yes; and that the happy English home has proved in half
+the time.
+
+\1 For heaven's sake, don't try to be cynical. It's perfectly
+easy to be cynical.
+
+\2 My dear fellow, it isn't easy to be anything nowadays.
+There's such a lot of beastly competition about. \[The sound of an
+electric bell is heard\] Ah! that must be Aunt Augusta. Only
+relatives, or creditors, ever ring in that Wagnerian manner. Now,
+if I get her out of the way for ten minutes, so that you can have
+an opportunity for proposing to Gwendolen, may I dine with you
+to-night at Willis's?
+
+\1 I suppose so, if you want to.
+
+\2 Yes, but you must be serious about it. I hate people
+who are not serious about meals. It is so shallow of them.
+
+\[c]Enter \8\]
+
+\8 Lady Bracknell and Miss Fairfax.
+\newpage
+\[\2 goes forward to meet them. Enter \3 and
+\4\]
+
+\3 Good afternoon, dear Algernon, I hope you are
+behaving very well.
+
+\2 I'm feeling very well, Aunt Augusta.
+
+\3 That's not quite the same thing. In fact the two
+things rarely go together. \[Sees \1 and bows to him with icy
+coldness\]
+
+\2 \[to \4\] Dear me, you are smart!
+
+\4 I am always smart! Am I not, Mr. Worthing?
+
+\1 You're quite perfect, Miss Fairfax.
+
+\4 Oh! I hope I am not that. It would leave no room for
+developments, and I intend to develop in many directions.
+\[\4 and \1 sit down together in the corner\]
+
+\3 I'm sorry if we are a little late, Algernon, but I
+was obliged to call on dear Lady Harbury. I hadn't been there
+since her poor husband's death. I never saw a woman so altered;
+she looks quite twenty years younger. And now I'll have a cup of
+tea, and one of those nice cucumber sandwiches you promised me.
+
+\2 Certainly, Aunt Augusta. \[Goes over to tea-table\]
+
+\3 Won't you come and sit here, Gwendolen?
+
+\4 Thanks, mamma, I'm quite comfortable where I am.
+
+\2 \[picking up empty plate in horror\] Good heavens!
+Lane! Why are there no cucumber sandwiches? I ordered them
+specially.
+
+\8 \[gravely\] There were no cucumbers in the market this
+morning, sir. I went down twice.
+
+\2 No cucumbers!
+
+\8 No, sir. Not even for ready money.
+
+\2 That will do, Lane, thank you.
+
+\8 Thank you, sir. \[Goes out\]
+
+\2 I am greatly distressed, Aunt Augusta, about there being
+no cucumbers, not even for ready money.
+
+\3 It really makes no matter, Algernon. I had some
+crumpets with Lady Harbury, who seems to me to be living entirely
+for pleasure now.
+
+\2 I hear her hair has turned quite gold from grief.
+
+\3 It certainly has changed its colour. From what
+cause I, of course, cannot say.\[\2 crosses and hands tea\]%
+Thank you. I've quite a treat for you to-night, Algernon. I am
+going to send you down with Mary Farquhar. She is such a nice
+woman, and so attentive to her husband. It's delightful to watch
+them.
+
+\2 I am afraid, Aunt Augusta, I shall have to give up the
+pleasure of dining with you to-night after all.
+
+\3 \[frowning\]I hope not, Algernon. It would put
+my table completely out. Your uncle would have to dine upstairs.
+Fortunately he is accustomed to that.
+
+\2 It is a great bore, and, I need hardly say, a terrible
+disappointment to me, but the fact is I have just had a telegram to
+say that my poor friend Bunbury is very ill again. \[Exchanges
+glances with \1\] They seem to think I should be with him.
+
+\3 It is very strange. This Mr. Bunbury seems to
+suffer from curiously bad health.
+
+\2 Yes; poor Bunbury is a dreadful invalid.
+
+\3 Well, I must say, Algernon, that I think it is
+high time that Mr. Bunbury made up his mind whether he was going to
+live or to die. This shilly-shallying with the question is absurd.
+Nor do I in any way approve of the modern sympathy with invalids.
+I consider it morbid. Illness of any kind is hardly a thing to be
+encouraged in others. Health is the primary duty of life. I am
+always telling that to your poor uncle, but he never seems to take
+much notice \ldots{} as far as any improvement in his ailment goes. I
+should be much obliged if you would ask Mr. Bunbury, from me, to be
+kind enough not to have a relapse on Saturday, for I rely on you to
+arrange my music for me. It is my last reception, and one wants
+something that will encourage conversation, particularly at the end
+of the season when every one has practically said whatever they had
+to say, which, in most cases, was probably not much.
+
+\2 I'll speak to Bunbury, Aunt Augusta, if he is still
+conscious, and I think I can promise you he'll be all right by
+Saturday. Of course the music is a great difficulty. You see, if
+one plays good music, people don't listen, and if one plays bad
+music people don't talk. But I'll ran over the programme I've
+drawn out, if you will kindly come into the next room for a moment.
+
+\3 Thank you, Algernon. It is very thoughtful of
+you. \[Rising, and following \2\] I'm sure the programme
+will be delightful, after a few expurgations. French songs I
+cannot possibly allow. People always seem to think that they are
+improper, and either look shocked, which is vulgar, or laugh, which
+is worse. But German sounds a thoroughly respectable language, and
+indeed, I believe is so. Gwendolen, you will accompany me.
+
+\4 Certainly, mamma.
+
+\[c]\3 and \2 go into the music-room,\\ \4 remains behind\]
+
+\1 Charming day it has been, Miss Fairfax.
+
+\4 Pray don't talk to me about the weather, Mr. Worthing.
+Whenever people talk to me about the weather, I always feel quite
+certain that they mean something else. And that makes me so
+nervous.
+
+\1 I do mean something else.
+
+\4 I thought so. In fact, I am never wrong.
+
+\1 And I would like to be allowed to take advantage of Lady
+Bracknell's temporary absence \ldots{}
+
+\4 I would certainly advise you to do so. Mamma has a way
+of coming back suddenly into a room that I have often had to speak
+to her about.
+
+\1 \[nervously\] Miss Fairfax, ever since I met you I have
+admired you more than any girl \ldots{} I have ever met since \ldots{} I
+met you.
+
+\4 Yes, I am quite well aware of the fact. And I often
+wish that in public, at any rate, you had been more demonstrative.
+For me you have always had an irresistible fascination. Even
+before I met you I was far from indifferent to you. \[\1 looks at
+her in amazement\] We live, as I hope you know, Mr Worthing, in an
+age of ideals. The fact is constantly mentioned in the more
+expensive monthly magazines, and has reached the provincial
+pulpits, I am told; and my ideal has always been to love some one
+of the name of Ernest. There is something in that name that
+inspires absolute confidence. The moment Algernon first mentioned
+to me that he had a friend called Ernest, I knew I was destined to
+love you.
+
+\1 You really love me, Gwendolen?
+
+\4 Passionately!
+
+\1 Darling! You don't know how happy you've made me.
+
+\4 My own Ernest!
+
+\1 But you don't really mean to say that you couldn't love me
+if my name wasn't Ernest?
+
+\4 But your name is Ernest.
+
+\1 Yes, I know it is. But supposing it was something else? Do
+you mean to say you couldn't love me then?
+
+\4 \[glibly\] Ah! that is clearly a metaphysical
+speculation, and like most metaphysical speculations has very
+little reference at all to the actual facts of real life, as we
+know them.
+
+\1 Personally, darling, to speak quite candidly, I don't much
+care about the name of Ernest \ldots{} I don't think the name suits me
+at all.
+
+\4 It suits you perfectly. It is a divine name. It has a
+music of its own. It produces vibrations.
+
+\1 Well, really, Gwendolen, I must say that I think there are
+lots of other much nicer names. I think Jack, for instance, a
+charming name.
+
+\4 Jack? \ldots{} No, there is very little music in the name
+Jack, if any at all, indeed. It does not thrill. It produces
+absolutely no vibrations \ldots{} I have known several Jacks, and they
+all, without exception, were more than usually plain. Besides,
+Jack is a notorious domesticity for John! And I pity any woman who
+is married to a man called John. She would probably never be
+allowed to know the entrancing pleasure of a single moment's
+solitude. The only really safe name is Ernest
+
+\1 Gwendolen, I must get christened at once \textendash\,\textendash I mean we must
+get married at once. There is no time to be lost.
+
+\4 Married, Mr. Worthing?
+
+\1 \[astounded\] Well \ldots{} surely. You know that I love you,
+and you led me to believe, Miss Fairfax, that you were not
+absolutely indifferent to me.
+
+\4 I adore you. But you haven't proposed to me yet.
+Nothing has been said at all about marriage. The subject has not
+even been touched on.
+
+\1 Well \ldots{} may I propose to you now?
+
+\4 I think it would be an admirable opportunity. And to
+spare you any possible disappointment, Mr. Worthing, I think it
+only fair to tell you quite frankly before-hand that I am fully
+determined to accept you.
+
+\1 Gwendolen!
+
+\4 Yes, Mr. Worthing, what have you got to say to me?
+
+\1 You know what I have got to say to you.
+
+\4 Yes, but you don't say it.
+
+\1 Gwendolen, will you marry me? \[Goes on his knees\]
+
+\4 Of course I will, darling. How long you have been
+about it! I am afraid you have had very little experience in how
+to propose.
+
+\1 My own one, I have never loved any one in the world but you.
+
+\4 Yes, but men often propose for practice. I know my
+brother Gerald does. All my girl-friends tell me so. What
+wonderfully blue eyes you have, Ernest! They are quite, quite,
+blue. I hope you will always look at me just like that, especially
+when there are other people present.
+
+\[c]Enter \3\]
+
+\3 Mr. Worthing! Rise, sir, from this semi-re\-cum\-bent
+posture. It is most indecorous.
+
+\4 Mamma! \[He tries to rise; she restrains him\] I must
+beg you to retire. This is no place for you. Besides, Mr.
+Worthing has not quite finished yet.
+
+\3 Finished what, may I ask?
+
+\4 I am engaged to Mr. Worthing, mamma. \[They rise
+together\]
+
+\3 Pardon me, you are not engaged to any one. When
+you do become engaged to some one, I, or your father, should his
+health permit him, will inform you of the fact. An engagement
+should come on a young girl as a surprise, pleasant or unpleasant,
+as the case may be. It is hardly a matter that she could be
+allowed to arrange for herself \ldots{} And now I have a few questions
+to put to you, Mr. Worthing. While I am making these inquiries,
+you, Gwendolen, will wait for me below in the carriage.
+
+\4 \[reproachfully\] Mamma!
+
+\3 In the carriage, Gwendolen!\[\4 goes to
+the door. She and \1 blow kisses to each other behind
+\3's back. \3 looks vaguely about as if she
+could not understand what the noise was. Finally turns round\]
+Gwendolen, the carriage!
+
+\4 Yes, mamma. \[Goes out, looking back at \1\]
+
+\3 \[sitting down\] You can take a seat, Mr.
+Worthing.
+
+\[c]Looks in her pocket for note-book and pencil\]
+
+\1 Thank you, Lady Bracknell, I prefer standing.
+
+\3 \[Pencil and note-book in hand\] I feel bound to
+tell you that you are not down on my list of eligible young men,
+although I have the same list as the dear Duchess of Bolton has.
+We work together, in fact. However, I am quite ready to enter your
+name, should your answers be what a really affectionate mother
+requires. Do you smoke?
+
+\1 Well, yes, I must admit I smoke.
+
+\3 I am glad to hear it. A man should always have an
+occupation of some kind. There are far too many idle men in London
+as it is. How old are you?
+
+\1 Twenty-nine.
+
+\3 A very good age to be married at. I have always
+been of opinion that a man who desires to get married should know
+either everything or nothing. Which do you know?
+
+\1 \[after some hesitation\] I know nothing, Lady Bracknell.
+
+\3 I am pleased to hear it. I do not approve of
+anything that tampers with natural ignorance. Ignorance is like a
+delicate exotic fruit; touch it and the bloom is gone. The whole
+theory of modern education is radically unsound. Fortunately in
+England, at any rate, education produces no effect whatsoever. If
+it did, it would prove a serious danger to the upper classes, and
+probably lead to acts of violence in Grosvenor Square. What is
+your income?
+
+\1 Between seven and eight thousand a year.
+
+\3 \[makes a note in her book\] In land, or in
+investments?
+
+\1 In investments, chiefly.
+
+\3 That is satisfactory. What between the duties
+expected of one during one's lifetime, and the duties exacted from
+one after one's death, land has ceased to be either a profit or a
+pleasure. It gives one position, and prevents one from keeping it
+up. That's all that can be said about land.
+
+\1 I have a country house with some land, of course, attached
+to it, about fifteen hundred acres, I believe; but I don't depend
+on that for my real income. In fact, as far as I can make out, the
+poachers are the only people who make anything out of it.
+
+\3 A country house! How many bedrooms? Well, that
+point can be cleared up afterwards. You have a town house, I hope?
+A girl with a simple, unspoiled nature, like Gwendolen, could
+hardly be expected to reside in the country.
+
+\1 Well, I own a house in Belgrave Square, but it is let by the
+year to Lady Bloxham. Of course, I can get it back whenever I
+like, at six months' notice.
+
+\3 Lady Bloxham? I don't know her.
+
+\1 Oh, she goes about very little. She is a lady considerably
+advanced in years.
+
+\3 Ah, nowadays that is no guarantee of
+respectability of character. What number in Belgrave Square?
+
+\1 \oldstylenums{149}.
+
+\3 \[shaking her head\] The unfashionable side. I
+thought there was something. However, that could easily be
+altered.
+
+\1 Do you mean the fashion, or the side?
+
+\3 \[sternly\] Both, if necessary, I presume. What
+are your polities?
+
+\1 Well, I am afraid I really have none. I am a Liberal
+Unionist.
+
+\3 Oh, they count as Tories. They dine with us. Or
+come in the evening, at any rate. Now to minor matters. Are your
+parents living?
+
+\1 I have lost both my parents.
+
+\3 To lose one parent, Mr. Worthing, may be regarded
+as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness. Who was
+your father? He was evidently a man of some wealth. Was he born
+in what the Radical papers call the purple of commerce, or did he
+rise from the ranks of the aristocracy?
+
+\1 I am afraid I really don't know. The fact is, Lady
+Bracknell, I said I had lost my parents. It would be nearer the
+truth to say that my parents seem to have lost me \ldots{} I don't
+actually know who I am by birth. I was \ldots{} well, I was found.
+
+\3 Found!
+
+\1 The late Mr. Thomas Cardew, an old gentleman of a very
+charitable and kindly disposition, found me, and gave me the name
+of Worthing, because he happened to have a first-class ticket for
+Worthing in his pocket at the time. Worthing is a place in Sussex.
+It is a seaside resort.
+
+\3 Where did the charitable gentleman who had a
+first-class ticket for this seaside resort find you?
+
+\1 \[gravely\] In a hand-bag.
+
+\3 A hand-bag?
+
+\1 \[very seriously\] Yes, Lady Bracknell. I was in a hand-bag%
+\textemdash a somewhat large, black leather hand-bag, with handles to
+it\textemdash an ordinary hand-bag in fact.
+
+\3 In what locality did this Mr. James, or Thomas,
+Cardew come across this ordinary hand-bag?
+
+\1 In the cloak-room at Victoria Station. It was given to him
+in mistake for his own.
+
+\3 The cloak-room at Victoria Station?
+
+\1 Yes. The Brighton line.
+
+\3 The line is immaterial. Mr. Worthing, I confess I
+feel somewhat bewildered by what you have just told me. To be
+born, or at any rate bred, in a hand-bag, whether it had handles or
+not, seems to me to display a contempt for the ordinary decencies
+of family life that reminds one of the worst excesses of the French
+Revolution. And I presume you know what that unfortunate movement
+led to? As for the particular locality in which the hand-bag was
+found, a cloak-room at a railway station might serve to conceal a
+social indiscretion\textemdash has probably, indeed, been used for that
+purpose before now\textemdash but it could hardly be regarded as an assured
+basis for a recognised position in good society.
+
+\1 May I ask you then what you would advise me to do? I need
+hardly say I would do anything in the world to ensure Gwendolen's
+happiness.
+
+\3 I would strongly advise you, Mr. Worthing, to try
+and acquire some relations as soon as possible, and to make a
+definite effort to produce at any rate one parent, of either sex,
+before the season is quite over.
+
+\1 Well, I don't see how I could possibly manage to do that. I
+can produce the hand-bag at any moment. It is in my dressing-room
+at home. I really think that should satisfy you, Lady Bracknell.
+
+\3 Me, sir! What has it to do with me? You can
+hardly imagine that I and Lord Bracknell would dream of allowing
+our only daughter\textemdash a girl brought up with the utmost care%
+\textemdash to
+marry into a cloak-room, and form an alliance with a parcel? Good
+morning, Mr. Worthing!
+
+\[c]\3 sweeps out in majestic indignation\]
+
+\1 Good morning! \[\2, from the other room, strikes up
+the Wedding March. Jack looks perfectly furious, and goes to the
+door\] For goodness' sake don't play that ghastly tune, Algy. How
+idiotic you are!
+
+\[c]The music stops and \2 enters cheerily\]
+
+\2 Didn't it go off all right, old boy? You don't mean to
+say Gwendolen refused you? I know it is a way she has. She is
+always refusing people. I think it is most ill-natured of her.
+
+\1 Oh, Gwendolen is as right as a trivet. As far as she is
+concerned, we are engaged. Her mother is perfectly unbearable.
+Never met such a Gorgon \ldots{} I don't really know what a Gorgon is
+like, but I am quite sure that Lady Bracknell is one. In any case,
+she is a monster, without being a myth, which is rather unfair . .
+. I beg your pardon, Algy, I suppose I shouldn't talk about your
+own aunt in that way before you.
+
+\2 My dear boy, I love hearing my relations abused. It is
+the only thing that makes me put up with them at all. Relations
+are simply a tedious pack of people, who haven't got the remotest
+knowledge of how to live, nor the smallest instinct about when to
+die.
+
+\1 Oh, that is nonsense!
+
+\2 It isn't!
+
+\1 Well, I won't argue about the matter. You always want to
+argue about things.
+
+\2 That is exactly what things were originally made for.
+
+\1 Upon my word, if I thought that, I'd shoot myself \ldots{} \[A
+pause\] You don't think there is any chance of Gwendolen becoming
+like her mother in about a hundred and fifty years, do you, Algy?
+
+\2 All women become like their mothers. That is their
+tragedy. No man does. That's his.
+
+\1 Is that clever?
+
+\2 It is perfectly phrased! and quite as true as any
+observation in civilised life should be.
+
+\1 I am sick to death of cleverness. Everybody is clever
+nowadays. You can't go anywhere without meeting clever people.
+The thing has become an absolute public nuisance. I wish to
+goodness we had a few fools left.
+
+\2 We have.
+
+\1 I should extremely like to meet them. What do they talk
+about?
+
+\2 The fools? Oh! about the clever people, of course.
+
+\1 What fools!
+
+\2 By the way, did you tell Gwendolen the truth about your
+being Ernest in town, and Jack in the country?
+
+\1 \[in a very patronising manner\] My dear fellow, the truth
+isn't quite the sort of thing one tells to a nice, sweet, refined
+girl. What extraordinary ideas you have about the way to behave to
+a woman!
+
+\2 The only way to behave to a woman is to make love to
+her, if she is pretty, and to some one else, if she is plain.
+
+\1 Oh, that is nonsense.
+
+\2 What about your brother? What about the profligate
+Ernest?
+
+\1 Oh, before the end of the week I shall have got rid of him.
+I'll say he died in Paris of apoplexy. Lots of people die of
+apoplexy, quite suddenly, don't they?
+
+\2 Yes, but it's hereditary, my dear fellow. It's a sort
+of thing that runs in families. You had much better say a severe
+chill.
+
+\1 You are sure a severe chill isn't hereditary, or anything of
+that kind?
+
+\2 Of course it isn't!
+
+\1 Very well, then. My poor brother Ernest to carried off
+suddenly, in Paris, by a severe chill. That gets rid of him.
+
+\2 But I thought you said that \ldots{} Miss Cardew was a
+little too much interested in your poor brother Ernest? Won't she
+feel his loss a good deal?
+
+\1 Oh, that is all right. Cecily is not a silly romantic girl,
+I am glad to say. She has got a capital appetite, goes long walks,
+and pays no attention at all to her lessons.
+
+\2 I would rather like to see Cecily.
+
+\1 I will take very good care you never do. She is excessively
+pretty, and she is only just eighteen.
+
+\2 Have you told Gwendolen yet that you have an excessively
+pretty ward who is only just eighteen?
+
+\1 Oh! one doesn't blurt these things out to people. Cecily
+and Gwendolen are perfectly certain to be extremely great friends.
+I'll bet you anything you like that half an hour after they have
+met, they will be calling each other sister.
+
+\2 Women only do that when they have called each other a
+lot of other things first. Now, my dear boy, if we want to get a
+good table at Willis's, we really must go and dress. Do you know
+it is nearly seven?
+
+\1 \[irritably\] Oh! It always is nearly seven.
+
+\2 Well, I'm hungry.
+
+\1 I never knew you when you weren't \ldots{}
+
+\2 What shall we do after dinner? Go to a theatre?
+
+\1 Oh no! I loathe listening.
+
+\2 Well, let us go to the Club?
+
+\1 Oh, no! I hate talking.
+
+\2 Well, we might trot round to the Empire at ten?
+
+\1 Oh, no! I can't bear looking at things. It is so silly.
+
+\2 Well, what shall we do?
+
+\1 Nothing!
+
+\2 It is awfully hard work doing nothing. However, I don't
+mind hard work where there is no definite object of any kind.
+
+\[c]Enter \8\]
+
+\8 Miss Fairfax.
+
+\[c]Enter \4 \8 goes out\]
+
+\2 Gwendolen, upon my word!
+
+\4 Algy, kindly turn your back. I have something very
+particular to say to Mr. Worthing.
+
+\2 Really, Gwendolen, I don't think I can allow this at
+all.
+
+\4 Algy, you always adopt a strictly immoral attitude
+towards life. You are not quite old enough to do that. \[\2
+retires to the fireplace\]
+
+\1 My own darling!
+
+\4 Ernest, we may never be married. From the expression
+on mamma's face I fear we never shall. Few parents nowadays pay
+any regard to what their children say to them. The old-fashioned
+respect for the young is fast dying out. Whatever influence I ever
+had over mamma, I lost at the age of three. But although she may
+prevent us from becoming man and wife, and I may marry some one
+else, and marry often, nothing that she can possibly do can alter
+my eternal devotion to you.
+
+\1 Dear Gwendolen!
+
+\4 The story of your romantic origin, as related to me by
+mamma, with unpleasing comments, has naturally stirred the deeper
+fibres of my nature. Your Christian name has an irresistible
+fascination. The simplicity of your character makes you
+exquisitely incomprehensible to me. Your town address at the
+Albany I have. What is your address in the country?
+
+\1 The Manor House, Woolton, Hertfordshire.
+
+\[\2, who has been carefully listening, smiles to himself, and
+writes the address on his shirt-cuff. Then picks up the Railway
+Guide\]
+
+\4 There is a good postal service, I suppose? It may be
+necessary to do something desperate. That of course will require
+serious consideration. I will communicate with you daily.
+
+\1 My own one!
+
+\4 How long do you remain in town?
+
+\1 Till Monday.
+
+\4 Good! Algy, you may turn round now.
+
+\2 Thanks, I've turned round already.
+
+\4 You may also ring the bell.
+
+\1 You will let me see you to your carriage, my own darling?
+
+\4 Certainly.
+
+\1 \[to \8, who now enters\] I will see Miss Fairfax out.
+
+\8 Yes, sir. \[\1 and \4 go off\]
+
+\[\8 presents several letters on a salver to \2 It is to
+be surmised that they are bills, as \2, after looking at the
+envelopes, tears them up\]
+
+\2 A glass of sherry, Lane.
+
+\8 Yes, sir.
+
+\2 To-morrow, Lane, I'm going Bunburying.
+
+\8 Yes, sir.
+
+\2 I shall probably not be back till Monday. You can put
+up my dress clothes, my smoking jacket, and all the Bunbury suits .
+. .
+
+\8 Yes, sir. \[Handing sherry\]
+
+\2 I hope to-morrow will be a fine day, Lane.
+
+\8 It never is, sir.
+
+\2 Lane, you're a perfect pessimist.
+
+\8 I do my best to give satisfaction, sir.
+
+\[c]Enter \1. \8 goes off\]
+
+\1 There's a sensible, intellectual girl! the only girl I ever
+cared for in my life. \[\2 is laughing immoderately\] What
+on earth are you so amused at?
+
+\2 Oh, I'm a little anxious about poor Bunbury, that in
+all.
+
+\1 If you don't take care, your friend Bunbury will get you
+into a serious scrape some day.
+
+\2 I love scrapes. They are the only things that are never
+serious.
+
+\1 Oh, that's nonsense, Algy. You never talk anything but
+nonsense.
+
+\2 Nobody ever does.
+
+\[\1 looks indignantly at him, and leaves the room. \2
+lights a cigarette, reads his shirt-cuff, and smiles\]
+
+\Act \Scene
+
+\persona*[8]{Merriman}
+
+\(Garden at the Manor House. A flight of grey stone steps leads up
+to the house. The garden, an old-fashioned one, full of roses.
+Time of year, July. Basket chairs, and a table covered with books,
+are set under a large yew-tree.\)
+
+
+\[\6 discovered seated at the table. \5 is at the back, watering
+flowers.\]
+
+\6\[calling\] Cecily, Cecily! Surely such a utilitarian
+occupation as the watering of flowers is rather Moulton's duty than
+yours? Especially at a moment when intellectual pleasures await
+you. Your German grammar is on the table. Pray open it at page
+fifteen. We will repeat yesterday's lesson.
+
+\5\[coming over very slowly\] But I don't like German. It
+isn't at all a becoming language. I know perfectly well that I
+look quite plain after my German lesson.
+
+\6 Child, you know how anxious your guardian is that you
+should improve yourself in every way. He laid particular stress on
+your German, as he was leaving for town yesterday. Indeed, he
+always lays stress on your German when he is leaving for town.
+
+\5 Dear Uncle Jack is so very serious! Sometimes he is so
+serious that I think he cannot be quite well.
+
+\6 \[drawing herself up\] Your guardian enjoys the best
+of health, and his gravity of demeanour is especially to be
+commanded in one so comparatively young as he is.
+I know no one who has a higher sense of duty and responsibility.
+
+\5 I suppose that is why he often looks a little bored when
+we three are together.
+
+\6 Cecily! I am surprised at you. Mr. Worthing has many
+troubles in his life. Idle merriment and triviality would be out
+of place in his conversation. You must remember his constant
+anxiety about that unfortunate young man his brother.
+
+\5 I wish Uncle Jack would allow that unfortunate young man,
+his brother, to come down here sometimes. We might have a good
+influence over him, Miss Prism. I am sure you certainly would.
+You know German, and geology, and things of that kind influence a
+man very much.\[\5 begins to write in her diary\]
+
+\6 \[shaking her head\] I do not think that even I could
+produce any effect on a character that according to his own
+brother's admission is irretrievably weak and vacillating. Indeed
+I am not sure that I would desire to reclaim him. I am not in
+favour of this modern mania for turning bad people into good people
+at a moment's notice. As a man sows so let him reap. You must put
+away your diary, Cecily. I really don't see why you should keep a
+diary at all.
+
+\5 I keep a diary in order to enter the wonderful secrets of
+my life. If I didn't write them down, I should probably forget all
+about them.
+
+\6 Memory, my dear Cecily, is the diary that we all carry
+about with~us.
+
+\5 Yes, but it usually chronicles the things that have never
+happened, and couldn't possibly have happened. I believe that
+Memory is responsible for nearly all the three-volume novels that
+Mudie sends us.
+
+\6 Do not speak slightingly of the three-volume novel,
+Cecily. I wrote one myself in earlier days.
+
+\5 Did you really, Miss Prism? How wonderfully clever you
+are! I hope it did not end happily? I don't like novels that end
+happily. They depress me so much.
+
+\6 The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily. That
+is what Fiction means.
+
+\5 I suppose so. But it seems very unfair. And was your
+novel ever published?
+
+\6 Alas! no. The manuscript unfortunately was abandoned. \hfill\break
+\[\5 starts\]
+I use the word in the sense of lost or mislaid.
+To your work, child, these speculations are profitless.
+
+\5 \[smiling\] But I see dear Dr. Chasuble coming up through
+the garden.
+
+
+\6 \[rising and advancing\] Dr. Chasuble! This is indeed
+a pleasure.
+
+\[c]Enter \7.\]
+
+\7 And how are we this morning? Miss Prism, you are, I
+trust, well?
+
+\5 Miss Prism has just been complaining of a slight headache.
+I think it would do her so much good to have a short stroll with
+you in the Park, Dr.~Chasuble.
+
+\6 Cecily, I have not mentioned anything about a
+headache.
+
+\5 No, dear Miss Prism, I know that, but I felt instinctively
+that you had a headache. Indeed I was thinking about that, and not
+about my German lesson, when the Rector came in.
+
+\7 I hope, Cecily, you are not inattentive.
+
+\5 Oh, I am afraid I am.
+
+{\tolerance=10000
+\7 That is strange. Were I fortunate enough to be Miss\break
+Prism's pupil, I would hang upon her lips. \[\6 glares\]
+I spoke metaphorically. \textemdash My metaphor was drawn from bees. Ahem!
+Mr. Worthing, I suppose, has not returned from town yet?
+}
+
+\6 We do not expect him till Monday afternoon.
+
+\7 Ah yes, he usually likes to spend his Sunday in London.
+He is not one of those whose sole aim is enjoyment, as, by all
+accounts, that unfortunate young man his brother seems to be. But
+I must not disturb Egeria and her pupil any longer.
+
+\6 Egeria? My name is Laetitia, Doctor.
+
+\7 \[bowing\] A classical allusion merely, drawn from the
+Pagan authors. I shall see you both no doubt at Evensong?
+
+\6 I think, dear Doctor, I will have a stroll with you.
+I find I have a headache after all, and a walk might do it good.
+
+\7 With pleasure, Miss Prism, with pleasure. We might go
+as far as the schools and back.
+
+\6 That would be delightful. Cecily, you will read your
+Political Economy in my absence. The chapter on the Fall of the
+Rupee you may omit. It is somewhat too sensational. Even these
+metallic problems have their melodramatic side.
+
+\[c]Goes down the garden with \7.\]
+
+\5 \[picks up books and throws them back on table\] Horrid
+Political Economy! Horrid Geography! Horrid, horrid German!
+
+\[c]Enter \8 with a card on a salver.\]
+
+\8 Mr. Ernest Worthing has just driven over from the
+station. He has brought his luggage with him.
+
+\5 \[takes the card and reads it\] 'Mr. Ernest Worthing, B.
+4, The Albany, W.' Uncle Jack's brother! Did you tell him Mr.
+Worthing was in town?
+
+\8 Yes, Miss. He seemed very much disappointed. I
+mentioned that you and Miss Prism were in the garden. He said he
+was anxious to speak to you privately for a moment.
+
+\5 Ask Mr. Ernest Worthing to come here. I suppose you had
+better talk to the housekeeper about a room for him.
+
+\8 Yes, Miss. \[\8 goes off.\]
+
+
+\5 I have never met any really wicked person before. I feel
+rather frightened. I am so afraid he will look just like every one
+else.
+
+\[c]Enter \2, very gay and debonnair\]
+He does!
+
+\2 \[raising his hat\] You are my little cousin Cecily, I'm
+sure.
+
+\5 You are under some strange mistake. I am not little. In
+fact, I believe I am more than usually tall for my age. \[\2
+is rather taken aback\] But I am your cousin Cecily. You, I see
+from your card, are Uncle Jack's brother, my cousin Ernest, my
+wicked cousin Ernest.
+
+\2 Oh! I am not really wicked at all, cousin Cecily. You
+mustn't think that I am wicked.
+
+\5 If you are not, then you have certainly been deceiving us
+all in a very inexcusable manner. I hope you have not been leading
+a double life, pretending to be wicked and being really good all
+the time. That would be hypocrisy.
+
+\2 \[looks at her in amazement\] Oh! Of course I have been
+rather reckless.
+
+\5 I am glad to hear it.
+
+\2 In fact, now you mention the subject, I have been very
+bad in my own small way.
+
+\5 I don't think you should be so proud of that, though I am
+sure it must have been very pleasant.
+
+\2 It is much pleasanter being here with you.
+
+\5 I can't understand how you are here at all. Uncle Jack
+won't be back till Monday afternoon.
+
+\2 That is a great disappointment. I am obliged to go up
+by the first train on Monday morning. I have a business
+appointment that I am anxious . . . to miss?
+
+\5 Couldn't you miss it anywhere but in London?
+
+\2 No: the appointment is in London.
+
+\5 Well, I know, of course, how important it is not to keep a
+business engagement, if one wants to retain any sense of the beauty
+of life, but still I think you had better wait till Uncle Jack
+arrives. I know he wants to speak to you about your emigrating.
+
+\2 About my what?
+
+\5 Your emigrating. He has gone up to buy your outfit.
+
+\2 I certainly wouldn't let Jack buy my outfit. He has no
+taste in neckties at all.
+
+\5 I don't think you will require neckties. Uncle Jack is
+sending you to Australia.
+
+\2 Australia! I'd sooner die.
+
+\5 Well, he said at dinner on Wednesday night, that you would
+have to choose between this world, the next world, and Australia.
+
+\2 Oh, well! The accounts I have received of Australia and
+the next world, are not particularly encouraging. This world is
+good enough for me, cousin Cecily.
+
+\5 Yes, but are you good enough for it?
+
+\2 I'm afraid I'm not that. That is why I want you to
+reform me. You might make that your mission, if you don't mind,
+cousin Cecily.
+
+\5 I'm afraid I've no time, this afternoon.
+
+\2 Well, would you mind my reforming myself this afternoon?
+
+\5 It is rather Quixotic of you. But I think you should try.
+
+\2 I will. I feel better already.
+
+\5 You are looking a little worse.
+
+\2 That is because I am hungry.
+
+\5 How thoughtless of me. I should have remembered that when
+one is going to lead an entirely new life, one requires regular and
+wholesome meals. Won't you come in?
+
+\2 Thank you. Might I have a buttonhole first? I never
+have any appetite unless I have a buttonhole first.
+
+\5 A Marechal Niel? \[Picks up scissors\]
+
+\2 No, I'd sooner have a pink rose.
+
+\5 Why? \[Cuts a flower\]
+
+\2 Because you are like a pink rose, Cousin Cecily.
+
+\5 I don't think it can be right for you to talk to me like
+that. Miss Prism never says such things to me.
+
+\2 Then Miss Prism is a short-sighted old lady. \[\5
+puts the rose in his buttonhole\] You are the prettiest girl I
+ever saw.
+
+\5 Miss Prism says that all good looks are a snare.
+
+\2 They are a snare that every sensible man would like to
+be caught~in.
+
+\5 Oh, I don't think I would care to catch a sensible man. I
+shouldn't know what to talk to him about.
+
+\[c]They pass into the house. \6 and \7 return.\]
+
+\6 You are too much alone, dear Dr. Chasuble. You should
+get married. A misanthrope I can understand \textemdash a womanthrope,
+never!
+
+\7 \[with a scholar's shudder\] Believe me, I do not
+deserve so neologistic a phrase. The precept as well as the
+practice of the Primitive Church was distinctly against matrimony.
+
+\6 \[sententiously\] That is obviously the reason why the
+Primitive Church has not lasted up to the present day. And you do
+not seem to realise, dear Doctor, that by persistently remaining
+single, a man converts himself into a permanent public temptation.
+Men should be more careful; this very celibacy leads weaker vessels
+astray.
+
+\7 But is a man not equally attractive when married?
+
+\6 No married man is ever attractive except to his wife.
+
+\7 And often, I've been told, not even to her.
+
+\6 That depends on the intellectual sympathies of the
+woman. Maturity can always be depended on. Ripeness can be
+trusted. Young women are green. \[\7 starts\] I spoke
+horticulturally. My metaphor was drawn from fruits. But where is
+Cecily?
+
+\7 Perhaps she followed us to the schools.
+
+
+\[Enter \1 slowly from the back of the garden. He is dressed in
+the deepest mourning, with crape hatband and black gloves\]
+
+\6 Mr. Worthing!
+
+\7 Mr. Worthing?
+
+\6 This is indeed a surprise. We did not look for you
+till Monday afternoon.
+
+\1\[shakes \6's hand in a tragic manner\] I have
+returned sooner than I expected. Dr. Chasuble, I hope you are well?
+
+\7 Dear Mr. Worthing, I trust this garb of woe does not
+betoken some terrible calamity?
+
+\1 My brother.
+
+\6 More shameful debts and extravagance?
+
+\7 Still leading his life of pleasure?
+
+\1 \[shaking his head\] Dead!
+
+\7 Your brother Ernest dead?
+
+\1 Quite dead.
+
+\6 What a lesson for him! I trust he will profit by it.
+
+\7 Mr. Worthing, I offer you my sincere condolence. You
+have at least the consolation of knowing that you were always the
+most generous and forgiving of brothers.
+
+\1 Poor Ernest! He had many faults, but it is a sad, sad blow.
+
+\7 Very sad indeed. Were you with him at the end?
+
+\1 No. He died abroad; in Paris, in fact. I had a telegram
+last night from the manager of the Grand Hotel.
+
+\7 Was the cause of death mentioned?
+
+\1 A severe chill, it seems.
+
+\6 As a man sows, so shall he reap.
+
+\7 \[raising his hand\] Charity, dear Miss Prism, charity!
+None of us are perfect. I myself am peculiarly susceptible to
+draughts. Will the interment take place here?
+
+\1 No. He seems to have expressed a desire to be buried in
+Paris.
+
+\7 In Paris! \[Shakes his head\] I fear that hardly points
+to any very serious state of mind at the last. You would no doubt
+wish me to make some slight allusion to this tragic domestic
+affliction next Sunday. \[\1 presses his hand convulsively\]
+My sermon on the meaning of the manna in the wilderness can be adapted
+to almost any occasion, joyful, or, as in the present case,
+distressing. \[All sigh\] I have preached it at harvest
+celebrations, christenings, confirmations, on days of humiliation
+and festal days. The last time I delivered it was in the
+Cathedral, as a charity sermon on behalf of the Society for the
+Prevention of Discontent among the Upper Orders. The Bishop, who
+was present, was much struck by some of the analogies I drew.
+
+\1 Ah! that reminds me, you mentioned christenings I think, Dr.
+Chasuble? I suppose you know how to christen all right? \[\7
+looks astounded\] I mean, of course, you are continually
+christening, aren't you?
+
+\6 It is, I regret to say, one of the Rector's most
+constant duties in this parish. I have often spoken to the poorer
+classes on the subject. But they don't seem to know what thrift
+is.
+
+\7 But is there any particular infant in whom you are
+interested, Mr. Worthing? Your brother was, I believe, unmarried,
+was he not?
+
+\1 Oh yes.
+
+\6 \[bitterly\] People who live entirely for pleasure
+usually are.
+
+\1 But it is not for any child, dear Doctor. I am very fond of
+children. No! the fact is, I would like to be christened myself,
+this afternoon, if you have nothing better to do.
+
+\7 But surely, Mr. Worthing, you have been christened
+already?
+
+\1 I don't remember anything about it.
+
+\7 But have you any grave doubts on the subject?
+
+\1 I certainly intend to have. Of course I don't know if the
+thing would bother you in any way, or if you think I am a little
+too old now.
+
+\7 Not at all. The sprinkling, and, indeed, the immersion
+of adults is a perfectly canonical practice.
+
+\1 Immersion!
+
+\7 You need have no apprehensions. Sprinkling is all that
+is necessary, or indeed I think advisable. Our weather is so
+changeable. At what hour would you wish the ceremony performed?
+
+\1 Oh, I might trot round about five if that would suit you.
+
+\7 Perfectly, perfectly! In fact I have two similar
+ceremonies to perform at that time. A case of twins that occurred
+recently in one of the outlying cottages on your own estate. Poor
+Jenkins the carter, a most hard-working man.
+
+\1 Oh! I don't see much fun in being christened along with
+other babies. It would be childish. Would half-past five do?
+
+\7 Admirably! Admirably! \[Takes out watch\] And now,
+dear Mr. Worthing, I will not intrude any longer into a house of
+sorrow. I would merely beg you not to be too much bowed down by
+grief. What seem to us bitter trials are often blessings in
+disguise.
+
+\6 This seems to me a blessing of an extremely obvious
+kind.
+
+\[c]Enter \5 from the house.\]
+
+\5 Uncle Jack! Oh, I am pleased to see you back. But what
+horrid clothes you have got on! Do go and change them.
+
+\6 Cecily!
+
+\7 My child! my child! \[\5 goes towards \1; he
+kisses her brow in a melancholy manner\]
+
+\5 What is the matter, Uncle Jack? Do look happy! You look
+as if you had toothache, and I have got such a surprise for you.
+Who do you think is in the dining-room? Your brother!
+
+\1 Who?
+
+\5 Your brother Ernest. He arrived about half an hour ago.
+
+\1 What nonsense! I haven't got a brother.
+
+\5 Oh, don't say that. However badly he may have behaved to
+you in the past he is still your brother. You couldn't be so
+heartless as to disown him. I'll tell him to come out. And you
+will shake hands with him, won't you, Uncle Jack? \[Runs back into
+the house\]
+
+\7 These are very joyful tidings.
+
+\6 After we had all been resigned to his loss, his sudden
+return seems to me peculiarly distressing.
+
+\1 My brother is in the dining-room? I don't know what it all
+means. I think it is perfectly absurd.
+
+\[c]Enter \2 and \5 hand in hand.\\ They come slowly up to
+\1.\]
+
+\1 Good heavens! \[Motions \2 away\]
+
+\2 Brother John, I have come down from town to tell you
+that I am very sorry for all the trouble I have given you, and that
+I intend to lead a better life in the future. \[\1 glares at him
+and does not take his hand\]
+
+\5 Uncle Jack, you are not going to refuse your own brother's
+hand?
+
+\1 Nothing will induce me to take his hand. I think his coming
+down here disgraceful. He knows perfectly well why.
+
+\5 Uncle Jack, do be nice. There is some good in every one.
+Ernest has just been telling me about his poor invalid friend Mr.
+Bunbury whom he goes to visit so often. And surely there must be
+much good in one who is kind to an invalid, and leaves the
+pleasures of London to sit by a bed of pain.
+
+\1 Oh! he has been talking about Bunbury, has he?
+
+\5 Yes, he has told me all about poor Mr. Bunbury, and his
+terrible state of health.
+
+\1 Bunbury! Well, I won't have him talk to you about Bunbury
+or about anything else. It is enough to drive one perfectly
+frantic.
+
+\2 Of course I admit that the faults were all on my side.
+But I must say that I think that Brother John's coldness to me is
+peculiarly painful. I expected a more enthusiastic welcome,
+especially considering it is the first time I have come here.
+
+\5 Uncle Jack, if you don't shake hands with Ernest I will
+never forgive you.
+
+\1 Never forgive me?
+
+\5 Never, never, never!
+
+\1 Well, this is the last time I shall ever do it. \[Shakes
+with \2 and glares\]
+
+\7 It's pleasant, is it not, to see so perfect a
+reconciliation? I think we might leave the two brothers together.
+
+\6 Cecily, you will come with us.
+
+\5 Certainly, Miss Prism. My little task of reconciliation
+is over.
+
+\7 You have done a beautiful action to-day, dear child.
+
+\6 We must not be premature in our judgments.
+
+\5 I feel very happy. \[They all go off except \1 and \2\]
+
+\1 You young scoundrel, Algy, you must get out of this place as
+soon as possible. I don't allow any Bunburying here.
+
+\[c]Enter \8.\]
+
+\8 I have put Mr. Ernest's things in the room next to
+yours, sir. I suppose that is all right?
+
+\1 What?
+
+\8 Mr. Ernest's luggage, sir. I have unpacked it and put
+it in the room next to your own.
+
+\1 His luggage?
+
+\8 Yes, sir. Three portmanteaus, a dressing-case, two hat-boxes,
+and a large luncheon-basket.
+
+\2 I am afraid I can't stay more than a week this time.
+
+\1 Merriman, order the dog-cart at once. Mr. Ernest has been
+suddenly called back to town.
+
+\8 Yes, sir. \[Goes back into the house\]
+
+\2 What a fearful liar you are, Jack. I have not been
+called back to town at all.
+
+\1 Yes, you have.
+
+\2 I haven't heard any one call me.
+
+\1 Your duty as a gentleman calls you back.
+
+\2 My duty as a gentleman has never interfered with my
+pleasures in the smallest degree.
+
+\1 I can quite understand that.
+
+\2 Well, Cecily is a darling.
+
+\1 You are not to talk of Miss Cardew like that. I don't like
+it.
+
+\2 Well, I don't like your clothes. You look perfectly
+ridiculous in them. Why on earth don't you go up and change? It
+is perfectly childish to be in deep mourning for a man who is
+actually staying for a whole week with you in your house as a
+guest. I call it grotesque.
+
+\1 You are certainly not staying with me for a whole week as a
+guest or anything else. You have got to leave . . . by the four-five
+train.
+
+\2 I certainly won't leave you so long as you are in
+mourning. It would be most unfriendly. If I were in mourning you
+would stay with me, I suppose. I should think it very unkind if
+you didn't.
+
+\1 Well, will you go if I change my clothes?
+
+\2 Yes, if you are not too long. I never saw anybody take
+so long to dress, and with such little result.
+
+\1 Well, at any rate, that is better than being always over-dressed
+as you are.
+
+\2 If I am occasionally a little over-dressed, I make up
+for it by being always immensely over-educated.
+
+\1 Your vanity is ridiculous, your conduct an outrage, and your
+presence in my garden utterly absurd. However, you have got to
+catch the four-five, and I hope you will have a pleasant journey
+back to town. This Bunburying, as you call it, has not been a
+great success for you.
+
+\[c]Goes into the house\]
+
+\2 I think it has been a great success. I'm in love with
+Cecily, and that is everything.
+
+\[Enter \5 at the back of the garden. She picks up the can and
+begins to water the flowers\]
+
+\00But I must see her before I go, and
+make arrangements for another Bunbury. Ah, there she is.
+
+\5 Oh, I merely came back to water the roses. I thought you
+were with Uncle Jack.
+
+\2 He's gone to order the dog-cart for me.
+
+\5 Oh, is he going to take you for a nice drive?
+
+\2 He's going to send me away.
+
+\5 Then have we got to part?
+
+\2 I am afraid so. It's a very painful parting.
+
+\5 It is always painful to part from people whom one has
+known for a very brief space of time. The absence of old friends
+one can endure with equanimity. But even a momentary separation
+from anyone to whom one has just been introduced is almost
+unbearable.
+
+\2 Thank you.
+
+\[c]Enter \8.\]
+
+\8 The dog-cart is at the door, sir.
+
+\[c]\2 looks appealingly at \5\]
+
+\5 It can wait, Merriman for . . . five minutes.
+
+\8 Yes, Miss.
+
+\[c]Exit \8\]
+
+\2 I hope, Cecily, I shall not offend you if I state quite
+frankly and openly that you seem to me to be in every way the
+visible personification of absolute perfection.
+
+\5 I think your frankness does you great credit, Ernest. If
+you will allow me, I will copy your remarks into my diary. \[Goes
+over to table and begins writing in diary\]
+
+\2 Do you really keep a diary? I'd give anything to look
+at it. May~I?
+
+\5 Oh no. \[Puts her hand over it\] You see, it is simply a
+very young girl's record of her own thoughts and impressions, and
+consequently meant for publication. When it appears in volume form
+I hope you will order a copy. But pray, Ernest, don't stop. I
+delight in taking down from dictation. I have reached 'absolute
+perfection'. You can go on. I am quite ready for more.
+
+\2 \[somewhat taken aback\] Ahem! Ahem!
+
+\5 Oh, don't cough, Ernest. When one is dictating one should
+speak fluently and not cough. Besides, I don't know how to spell a
+cough. \[Writes as \2 speaks\]
+
+\2 \[speaking very rapidly\] Cecily, ever since I first
+looked upon your wonderful and incomparable beauty, I have dared to
+love you wildly, passionately, devotedly, hopelessly.
+
+\5 I don't think that you should tell me that you love me
+wildly, passionately, devotedly, hopelessly. Hopelessly doesn't
+seem to make much sense, does it?
+
+\2 Cecily!
+
+\[c]Enter \8.\]
+
+\8 The dog-cart is waiting, sir.
+
+\2 Tell it to come round next week, at the same hour.
+
+\8 \[Looks at \5, who makes no sign\] Yes, sir.
+
+\[c]\8 retires.\]
+
+\5 Uncle Jack would be very much annoyed if he knew you were
+staying on till next week, at the same hour.
+
+\2 Oh, I don't care about Jack. I don't care for anybody
+in the whole world but you. I love you, Cecily. You will marry
+me, won't you?
+
+\5 You silly boy! Of course. Why, we have been engaged for
+the last three months.
+
+\2 For the last three months?
+
+\5 Yes, it will be exactly three months on Thursday.
+
+\2 But how did we become engaged?
+
+\5 Well, ever since dear Uncle Jack first confessed to us
+that he had a younger brother who was very wicked and bad, you of
+course have formed the chief topic of conversation between myself
+and Miss Prism. And of course a man who is much talked about is
+always very attractive. One feels there must be something in him,
+after all. I daresay it was foolish of me, but I fell in love with
+you, Ernest.
+
+\2 Darling! And when was the engagement actually settled?
+
+\5 On the 14th of February last. Worn out by your entire
+ignorance of my existence, I determined to end the matter one way
+or the other, and after a long struggle with myself I accepted you
+under this dear old tree here. The next day I bought this little
+ring in your name, and this is the little bangle with the true
+lover's knot I promised you always to wear.
+
+\2 Did I give you this? It's very pretty, isn't it?
+
+\5 Yes, you've wonderfully good taste, Ernest. It's the
+excuse I've always given for your leading such a bad life. And
+this is the box in which I keep all your dear letters. \[Kneels at
+table, opens box, and produces letters tied up with blue ribbon\]
+
+\2 My letters! But, my own sweet Cecily, I have never
+written you any letters.
+
+\5 You need hardly remind me of that, Ernest. I remember
+only too well that I was forced to write your letters for you. I
+wrote always three times a week, and sometimes oftener.
+
+\2 Oh, do let me read them, Cecily?
+
+
+\5 Oh, I couldn't possibly. They would make you far too
+conceited. \[Replaces box\] The three you wrote me after I had
+broken of the engagement are so beautiful, and so badly spelled,
+that even now I can hardly read them without crying a little.
+
+\2 But was our engagement ever broken off?
+
+\5 Of course it was. On the 22nd of last March. You can see
+the entry if you like. \[Shows diary\] `To-day I broke off my
+engagement with Ernest. I feel it is better to do so. The weather
+still continues charming.'
+
+\2 But why on earth did you break it of? What had I done?
+I had done nothing at all. Cecily, I am very much hurt indeed to
+hear you broke it off. Particularly when the weather was so
+charming.
+
+\5 It would hardly have been a really serious engagement if
+it hadn't been broken off at least once. But I forgave you before
+the week was out.
+
+\2 \[crossing to her, and kneeling\] What a perfect angel
+you are, Cecily.
+
+\5 You dear romantic boy. \[He kisses her, she puts her
+fingers through his hair\] I hope your hair curls naturally, does
+it?
+
+\2 Yes, darling, with a little help from others.
+
+\5 I am so glad.
+
+\2 You'll never break of our engagement again, Cecily?
+
+\5 I don't think I could break it off now that I have
+actually met you. Besides, of course, there is the question of
+your name.
+
+\2 Yes, of course. \[Nervously\]
+
+\5 You must not laugh at me, darling, but it had always been
+a girlish dream of mine to love some one whose name was Ernest.
+\[\2 rises, \5 also\] There is something in that name
+that seems to inspire absolute confidence. I pity any poor married
+woman whose husband is not called Ernest.
+
+\2 But, my dear child, do you mean to say you could not
+love me if I had some other name?
+
+\5 But what name?
+
+\2 Oh, any name you like \textemdash Algernon \textemdash for instance . . .
+
+\5 But I don't like the name of Algernon.
+
+\2 Well, my own dear, sweet, loving little darling, I
+really can't see why you should object to the name of Algernon. It
+is not at all a bad name. In fact, it is rather an aristocratic
+name. Half of the chaps who get into the Bankruptcy Court are
+called Algernon. But seriously, Cecily . . . \[Moving to her\] . . .
+if my name was Algy, couldn't you love me?
+
+\5 \[rising\] I might respect you, Ernest, I might admire
+your character, but I fear that I should not be able to give you my
+undivided attention.
+
+\2 Ahem! Cecily! \[Picking up hat\] Your Rector here is,
+I suppose, thoroughly experienced in the practice of all the rites
+and ceremonials of the Church?
+
+\5 Oh, yes. Dr. Chasuble is a most learned man. He has
+never written a single book, so you can imagine how much he knows.
+
+\2 I must see him at once on a most important christening
+\textemdash I mean on most important business.
+
+\5 Oh!
+
+\2 I shan't be away more than half an hour.
+
+\5 Considering that we have been engaged since February the
+14th, and that I only met you to-day for the first time, I think it
+is rather hard that you should leave me for so long a period as
+half an hour. Couldn't you make it twenty minutes?
+
+\2 I'll be back in no time. \[Kisses her and rushes down the garden.\]
+
+\5 What an impetuous boy he is! I like his hair so much. I
+must enter his proposal in my diary.
+
+\[c]Enter \8.\]
+
+\8 A Miss Fairfax has just called to see Mr. Worthing. On
+very important business, Miss Fairfax states.
+
+\5 Isn't Mr. Worthing in his library?
+
+\8 Mr. Worthing went over in the direction of the Rectory
+some time ago.
+
+\5 Pray ask the lady to come out here; Mr. Worthing is sure
+to be back soon. And you can bring tea.
+
+\8 Yes, Miss.
+
+\[c]Goes out\]
+
+\5 Miss Fairfax! I suppose one of the many good elderly
+women who are associated with Uncle Jack in some of his
+philanthropic work in London. I don't quite like women who are
+interested in philanthropic work. I think it is so forward of
+them.
+
+\[c]Enter \8.\]
+
+\8 Miss Fairfax.
+
+\[c]Enter \4. Exit \8.\]
+
+\5 \[advancing to meet her\] Pray let me introduce myself to
+you. My name is Cecily Cardew.
+
+\7 Cecily Cardew? \[Moving to her and shaking hands\]
+What a very sweet name! Something tells me that we are going to be
+great friends. I like you already more than I can say. My first
+impressions of people are never wrong.
+
+\5 How nice of you to like me so much after we have known
+each other such a comparatively short time. Pray sit down.
+
+\4 \[still standing up\] I may call you Cecily, may I not?
+
+\5 With pleasure!
+
+\4 And you will always call me Gwendolen, won't you?
+
+\5 If you wish.
+
+\4 Then that is all quite settled, is it not?
+
+\5 I hope so. \[A pause. They both sit down together\]
+
+\4 Perhaps this might be a favourable opportunity for my
+mentioning who I am. My father is Lord Bracknell. You have never
+heard of papa, I suppose?
+
+\5 I don't think so.
+
+\4 Outside the family circle, papa, I am glad to say, is
+entirely unknown. I think that is quite as it should be. The home
+seems to me to be the proper sphere for the man. And certainly
+once a man begins to neglect his domestic duties he becomes
+painfully effeminate, does he not? And I don't like that. It
+makes men so very attractive. Cecily, mamma, whose views on
+education are remarkably strict, has brought me up to be extremely
+short-sighted; it is part of her system; so do you mind my looking
+at you through my glasses?
+
+\5 Oh! not at all, Gwendolen. I am very fond of being looked
+at.
+
+\4 \[After examining \5 carefully through a lorgnette\]\break
+You are here on a short visit, I suppose.
+
+\5 Oh no! I live here.
+
+\4 \[severely\] Really? Your mother, no doubt, or some
+female relative of advanced years, resides here also?
+
+\5 Oh no! I have no mother, nor, in fact, any relations.
+
+\4 Indeed?
+
+\5 My dear guardian, with the assistance of Miss Prism, has
+the arduous task of looking after me.
+
+\4 Your guardian?
+
+\5 Yes, I am Mr. Worthing's ward.
+
+\4 Oh! It is strange he never mentioned to me that he had
+a ward. How secretive of him! He grows more interesting hourly.
+I am not sure, however, that the news inspires me with feelings of
+unmixed delight. \[Rising and going to her\] I am very fond of
+you, Cecily; I have liked you ever since I met you! But I am bound
+to state that now that I know that you are Mr. Worthing's ward, I
+cannot help expressing a wish you were \textemdash well, just a little older
+than you seem to be \textemdash and not quite so very alluring in appearance.
+In fact, if I may speak candidly \textemdash
+
+\5 Pray do! I think that whenever one has anything
+unpleasant to say, one should always be quite candid.
+
+\4 Well, to speak with perfect candour, Cecily, I wish
+that you were fully forty-two, and more than usually plain for your
+age. Ernest has a strong upright nature. He is the very soul of
+truth and honour. Disloyalty would be as impossible to him as
+deception. But even men of the noblest possible moral character
+are extremely susceptible to the influence of the physical charms
+of others. Modern, no less than Ancient History, supplies us with
+many most painful examples of what I refer to. If it were not so,
+indeed, History would be quite unreadable.
+
+\5 I beg your pardon, Gwendolen, did you say Ernest?
+
+\4 Yes.
+
+\5 Oh, but it is not Mr. Ernest Worthing who is my guardian.
+It is his brother \textemdash his elder brother.
+
+\4 \[sitting down again\] Ernest never mentioned to me
+that he had a brother.
+
+\5 I am sorry to say they have not been on good terms for a
+long time.
+
+\4 Ah! that accounts for it. And now that I think of it I
+have never heard any man mention his brother. The subject seems
+distasteful to most men. Cecily, you have lifted a load from my
+mind. I was growing almost anxious. It would have been terrible
+if any cloud had come across a friendship like ours, would it not?
+Of course you are quite, quite sure that it is not Mr. Ernest
+Worthing who is your guardian?
+
+\5 Quite sure. \[A pause\] In fact, I am going to be his.
+
+\4 \[inquiringly\] I beg your pardon?
+
+\5 \[rather shy and confidingly\] Dearest Gwendolen, there is
+no reason why I should make a secret of it to you. Our little
+county newspaper is sure to chronicle the fact next week. Mr.
+Ernest Worthing and I are engaged to be married.
+
+\4 \[quite politely, rising\] My darling Cecily, I think
+there must be some slight error. Mr. Ernest Worthing is engaged to
+me. The announcement will appear in the \textit{Morning Post} on Saturday
+at the latest.
+
+\5 \[very politely, rising\] I am afraid you must be under
+some misconception. Ernest proposed to me exactly ten minutes ago.
+%\[Shows diary\]
+
+\4 \[examines diary through her lorgnettte carefully\] It
+is certainly very curious, for he asked me to be his wife yesterday
+afternoon at 5.30. If you would care to verify the incident, pray
+do so. \[Produces diary of her own\] I never travel without my
+diary. One should always have something sensational to read in the
+train. I am so sorry, dear Cecily, if it is any disappointment to
+you, but I am afraid I have the prior claim.
+
+\5 It would distress me more than I can tell you, dear
+Gwendolen, if it caused you any mental or physical anguish, but I
+feel bound to point out that since Ernest proposed to you he
+clearly has changed his mind.
+
+\4 \[meditatively\] If the poor fellow has been entrapped
+into any foolish promise I shall consider it my duty to rescue him
+at once, and with a firm hand.
+
+\5 \[thoughtfully and sadly\] Whatever unfortunate
+entanglement my dear boy may have got into, I will never reproach
+him with it after we are married.
+
+\4 Do you allude to me, Miss Cardew, as an entanglement?
+You are presumptuous. On an occasion of this kind it becomes more
+than a moral duty to speak one's mind. It becomes a pleasure.
+
+\5 Do you suggest, Miss Fairfax, that I entrapped Ernest into
+an engagement? How dare you? This is no time for wearing the
+shallow mask of manners. When I see a spade I call it a spade.
+
+\4 \[satirically\] I am glad to say that I have never seen
+a spade. It is obvious that our social spheres have been widely
+different.
+
+\[Enter \8, followed by the footman. He carries a salver,
+table cloth, and plate stand. \5 is about to retort. The
+presence of the servants exercises a restraining influence, under
+which both girls chafe.\]
+
+\8 Shall I lay tea here as usual, Miss?
+
+\5 \[sternly, in a calm voice\] Yes, as usual.
+
+\[\8 begins to clear table and lay cloth. A long pause. \5 and
+\4 glare at each other\]
+
+
+\4 \DriveOut* Are there many interesting walks in the vicinity, Miss
+Cardew?
+
+\5 Oh! yes! a great many. From the top of one of the hills
+quite close one can see five counties.
+
+\4 Five counties! I don't think I should like that; I
+hate crowds.
+
+\5 \[sweetly\] I suppose that is why you live in town?
+\[\4 bites her lip, and beats her foot nervously with her
+parasol\]
+
+\4 \[looking round\] Quite a well-kept garden this is,
+Miss Cardew.
+
+\5 So glad you like it, Miss Fairfax.
+
+\4 I had no idea there were any flowers in the country.
+
+\5 Oh, flowers are as common here, Miss Fairfax, as people
+are in London.
+
+\4 Personally I cannot understand how anybody manages to
+exist in the country, if anybody who is anybody does. The country
+always bores me to death.
+
+\5 Ah! This is what the newspapers call agricultural
+depression, is it not? I believe the aristocracy are suffering
+very much from it just at present. It is almost an epidemic
+amongst them, I have been told. May I offer you some tea, Miss
+Fairfax?
+
+\4\[with elaborate politeness\] Thank you. \[Aside\] Detestable girl!
+But I require tea!
+
+\5 \[sweetly\] Sugar?
+
+\4 \[superciliously\] No, thank you. Sugar is not
+fashionable any more. \[\5 looks angrily at her, takes up the
+tongs and puts four lumps of sugar into the cup\]
+
+\5 \[severely\] Cake or bread and butter?
+
+\4 \[in a bored manner\] Bread and butter, please. Cake
+is rarely seen at the best houses nowadays.
+
+\5 \[cuts a very large slice of cake, and puts it on the
+tray\] Hand that to Miss Fairfax.
+
+\[\8 does so, and goes out with footman. \4 drinks the
+tea and makes a grimace. Puts down cup at once, reaches out her
+hand to the bread and butter, looks at it, and finds it is cake.
+Rises in indignation.\]
+
+\4 You have filled my tea with lumps of sugar, and though
+I asked most distinctly for bread and butter, you have given me
+cake. I am known for the gentleness of my disposition, and the
+extraordinary sweetness of my nature, but I warn you, Miss Cardew,
+you may go too far.
+
+\5 \[rising\] To save my poor, innocent, trusting boy from
+the machinations of any other girl there are no lengths to which I
+would not go.
+
+\4 From the moment I saw you I distrusted you. I felt
+that you were false and deceitful. I am never deceived in such
+matters. My first impressions of people are invariably right.
+
+\5 It seems to me, Miss Fairfax, that I am trespassing on
+your valuable time. No doubt you have many other calls of a
+similar character to make in the neighbourhood.
+
+\[c]Enter \1.\]
+
+\4 \[catching sight of him\] Ernest! My own Ernest!
+
+\1 Gwendolen! Darling! \[Offers to kiss her\]
+
+\4 \[draws back\] A moment! May I ask if you are engaged
+to be married to this young lady? \[Points to \5\]
+
+\1 \[laughing\] To dear little Cecily! Of course not! What
+could have put such an idea into your pretty little head?
+
+\4 Thank you. You may! \[Offers her cheek\]
+
+\5 \[very sweetly\] I knew there must be some
+misunderstanding, Miss Fairfax. The gentleman whose arm is at
+present round your waist is my guardian, Mr. John Worthing.
+
+\4 I beg your pardon?
+
+\5 This is Uncle Jack.
+
+\4 \[receding\] Jack! Oh!
+
+\[c]Enter \2.\]
+
+\5 Here is Ernest.
+
+\2 \[goes straight over to \5 without noticing any one
+else\]
+
+My own love! \[Offers to kiss her\]
+
+\5 \[drawing back\] A moment, Ernest! May I ask you \textemdash are
+you engaged to be married to this young lady?
+
+\2 \[looking round\] To what young lady? Good heavens!\break
+Gwendolen!
+
+\5 Yes! to good heavens, Gwendolen, I mean to Gwendolen.
+
+\2 \[laughing\] Of course not! What could have put such an
+idea into your pretty little head?
+
+\5 Thank you. \[Presenting her cheek to be kissed\] You may.\hfil\break
+\[\2 kisses her\]
+
+\4 I felt there was some slight error, Miss Cardew. The
+gentleman who is now embracing you is my cousin, Mr. Algernon
+Moncrieff.
+
+\5 \[breaking away from \2\] Algernon Moncrieff! Oh!
+\[The two girls move towards each other and put their arms round
+each other's waists as if for protection\]
+
+\5 Are you called Algernon?
+
+\2 I cannot deny it.
+
+\5 Oh!
+
+\4 Is your name really John?
+
+\1 \[standing rather proudly\] I could deny it if I liked. I
+could deny anything if I liked. But my name certainly is John. It
+has been John for years.
+
+\5 \[to \4\] A gross deception has been practised on
+both of us.
+
+\4 My poor wounded Cecily!
+
+\5 My sweet wronged Gwendolen!
+
+\4 \[slowly and seriously\] You will call me sister, will
+you not? \[They embrace. \1 and \2 groan and walk up and down\]
+
+\5 \[rather brightly\] There is just one question I would
+like to be allowed to ask my guardian.
+
+\4 An admirable idea! Mr. Worthing, there is just one
+question I would like to be permitted to put to you. Where is your
+brother Ernest? We are both engaged to be married to your brother
+Ernest, so it is a matter of some importance to us to know where
+your brother Ernest is at present.
+
+\1 \[slowly and hesitatingly\] Gwendolen \textemdash Cecily
+\textemdash it is very
+painful for me to be forced to speak the truth. It is the first
+time in my life that I have ever been reduced to such a painful
+position, and I am really quite inexperienced in doing anything of
+the kind. However, I will tell you quite frankly that I have no
+brother Ernest. I have no brother at all. I never had a brother
+in my life, and I certainly have not the smallest intention of ever
+having one in the future.
+
+\5 \[surprised\] No brother at all?
+
+\1 \[cheerily\] None!
+
+\4 \[severely\] Had you never a brother of any kind?
+
+\1 \[pleasantly\] Never. Not even of an kind.
+
+\4 I am afraid it is quite clear, Cecily, that neither of
+us is engaged to be married to any one.
+
+\5 It is not a very pleasant position for a young girl
+suddenly to find herself in. Is it?
+
+\4 Let us go into the house. They will hardly venture to
+come after us there.
+
+\5 No, men are so cowardly, aren't they?
+
+\[c]They retire into the house with scornful looks.\]
+
+\1 This ghastly state of things is what you call Bunburying, I
+suppose?
+
+\2 Yes, and a perfectly wonderful Bunbury it is. The most
+wonderful Bunbury I have ever had in my life.
+
+\1 Well, you've no right whatsoever to Bunbury here.
+
+\2 That is absurd. One has a right to Bunbury anywhere one
+chooses. Every serious Bunburyist knows that.
+
+\1 Serious Bunburyist! Good heavens!
+
+\2 Well, one must be serious about something, if one wants
+to have any amusement in life. I happen to be serious about
+Bunburying. What on earth you are serious about I haven't got the
+remotest idea. About everything, I should fancy. You have such an
+absolutely trivial nature.
+
+\1 Well, the only small satisfaction I have in the whole of
+this wretched business is that your friend Bunbury is quite
+exploded. You won't be able to run down to the country quite so
+often as you used to do, dear Algy. And a very good thing too.
+
+\2 Your brother is a little off colour, isn't he, dear
+Jack? You won't be able to disappear to London quite so frequently
+as your wicked custom was. And not a bad thing either.
+
+\1 As for your conduct towards Miss Cardew, I must say that
+your taking in a sweet, simple, innocent girl like that is quite
+inexcusable. To say nothing of the fact that she is my ward.
+
+\2 I can see no possible defence at all for your deceiving
+a brilliant, clever, thoroughly experienced young lady like Miss
+Fairfax. To say nothing of the fact that she is my cousin.
+
+\1 I wanted to be engaged to Gwendolen, that is all. I love
+her.
+
+\2 Well, I simply wanted to be engaged to Cecily. I adore
+her.
+
+\1 There is certainly no chance of your marrying Miss Cardew.
+
+\2 I don't think there is much likelihood, Jack, of you and
+Miss Fairfax being united.
+
+\1 Well, that is no business of yours.
+
+\2 If it was my business, I wouldn't talk about it.
+\[Begins to eat muffins\] It is very vulgar to talk about one's
+business. Only people like stock-brokers do that, and then merely
+at dinner parties.
+
+\1 How can you sit there, calmly eating muffins when we are in
+this horrible trouble, I can't make out. You seem to me to be
+perfectly heartless.
+
+\2 Well, I can't eat muffins in an agitated manner. The
+butter would probably get on my cuffs. One should always eat
+muffins quite calmly. It is the only way to eat them.
+
+\1 I say it's perfectly heartless your eating muffins at all,
+under the circumstances.
+
+\2 When I am in trouble, eating is the only thing that
+consoles me. Indeed, when I am in really great trouble, as any one
+who knows me intimately will tell you, I refuse everything except
+food and drink. At the present moment I am eating muffins because
+I am unhappy. Besides, I am particularly fond of muffins.
+\[r]Rising\]
+
+\1 \[rising\] Well, that is no reason why you should eat them
+all in that greedy way. \[Takes muffins from \2\]
+
+\2 \[offering tea-cake\] I wish you would have tea-cake
+instead. I don't like tea-cake.
+
+\1 Good heavens! I suppose a man may eat his own muffins in
+his own garden.
+
+\2 But you have just said it was perfectly heartless to eat
+muffins.
+
+\1 I said it was perfectly heartless of you, under the
+circumstances. That is a very different thing.
+
+\2 That may be. But the muffins are the same. \[He seizes
+the muffin-dish from \1\]
+
+\1 Algy, I wish to goodness you would go.
+
+\2 You can't possibly ask me to go without having some
+dinner. It's absurd. I never go without my dinner. No one ever
+does, except vegetarians and people like that. Besides I have just
+made arrangements with Dr. Chasuble to be christened at a quarter
+to six under the name of Ernest.
+
+\1 My dear fellow, the sooner you give up that nonsense the
+better. I made arrangements this morning with Dr. Chasuble to be
+christened myself at 5.30, and I naturally will take the name of
+Ernest. Gwendolen would wish it. We can't both be christened
+Ernest. It's absurd. Besides, I have a perfect right to be
+christened if I like. There is no evidence at all that I have ever
+been christened by anybody. I should think it extremely probable I
+never was, and so does Dr. Chasuble. It is entirely different in
+your case. You have been christened already.
+
+\2 Yes, but I have not been christened for years.
+
+\1 Yes, but you have been christened. That is the important
+thing.
+
+\2 Quite so. So I know my constitution can stand it. If
+you are not quite sure about your ever having been christened, I
+must say I think it rather dangerous your venturing on it now. It
+might make you very unwell. You can hardly have forgotten that
+some one very closely connected with you was very nearly carried
+off this week in Paris by a severe chill.
+
+\1 Yes, but you said yourself that a severe chill was not
+hereditary.
+
+\2 It usen't to be, I know \textemdash but I daresay it is now.
+Science is always making wonderful improvements in things.
+
+\1 \[picking up the muffin-dish\] Oh, that is nonsense; you are
+always talking nonsense.
+
+\2 Jack, you are at the muffins again! I wish you
+wouldn't. There are only two left. \[Takes them\] I told you I
+was particularly fond of muffins.
+
+\1 But I hate tea-cake.
+
+\2 Why on earth then do you allow tea-cake to be served up
+for your guests? What ideas you have of hospitality!
+
+\1 Algernon! I have already told you to go. I don't want you
+here. Why don't you go!
+
+\2 I haven't quite finished my tea yet! and there is still
+one muffin left.
+\[\1 groans, and sinks into a chair. \2 still continues eating.\]
+
+\Act \Scene
+
+\(c)Morning-room at the Manor House.\)
+
+\[\4 and \5 are at the window, looking out into the
+garden\]
+
+\4 The fact that they did not follow us at once into the
+house, as any one else would have done, seems to me to show that
+they have some sense of shame left.
+
+\5 They have been eating muffins. That looks like
+repentance.
+
+\4 \[after a pause\] They don't seem to notice us at all.
+Couldn't you cough?
+
+\5 But I haven't got a cough.
+
+\4 They're looking at us. What effrontery!
+
+\5 They're approaching. That's very forward of them.
+
+\4 Let us preserve a dignified silence.
+
+\5 Certainly. It's the only thing to do now.
+
+\[c]Enter \1 followed by \2 They whistle some dreadful\\ popular air from
+a British Opera\]
+
+\4 This dignified silence seems to produce an unpleasant
+effect.
+
+\5 A most distasteful one.
+
+\4 But we will not be the first to speak.
+
+\5 Certainly not.
+
+\4 Mr. Worthing, I have something very particular to ask
+you. Much depends on your reply.
+
+\5 Gwendolen, your common sense is invaluable. Mr.
+Moncrieff, kindly answer me the following question. Why did you
+pretend to be my guardian's brother?
+
+\2 In order that I might have an opportunity of meeting
+you.
+
+\5 \[to \4\] That certainly seems a satisfactory
+explanation, does it not?
+
+\4 Yes, dear, if you can believe him.
+
+\5 I don't. But that does not affect the wonderful beauty of
+his answer.
+
+\4 True. In matters of grave importance, style, not
+sincerity is the vital thing. Mr. Worthing, what explanation can
+you offer to me for pretending to have a brother? Was it in order
+that you might have an opportunity of coming up to town to see me
+as often as possible?
+
+\1 Can you doubt it, Miss Fairfax?
+
+\4 I have the gravest doubts upon the subject. But I
+intend to crush them. This is not the moment for German
+scepticism. \[Moving to \5\] Their explanations appear to be
+quite satisfactory, especially Mr. Worthing's. That seems to me to
+have the stamp of truth upon it.
+
+\5 I am more than content with what Mr. Moncrieff said. His
+voice alone inspires one with absolute credulity.
+
+\4 Then you think we should forgive them?
+
+\5 Yes. I mean no.
+
+\4 True! I had forgotten. There are principles at stake
+that one cannot surrender. Which of us should tell them? The task
+is not a pleasant one.
+
+\5 Could we not both speak at the same time?
+
+\4 An excellent idea! I nearly always speak at the same
+time as other people. Will you take the time from me?
+
+\5 Certainly. \[\4 beats time with uplifted finger\]
+\personae {Gwendolen \textit{and} Cecily} \[Speaking together\] Your Christian names are
+still an insuperable barrier. That is all!
+
+\personae {Jack \textit{and} Algernon}\[Speaking together\] Our Christian names! Is
+that all? But we are going to be christened this afternoon.
+
+\4 \[to \1\] For my sake you are prepared to do this
+terrible thing?
+
+\1 I am.
+
+\5 \[to \2\] To please me you are ready to face this
+fearful ordeal?
+
+\2 I am!
+
+\4 How absurd to talk of the equality of the sexes! Where
+questions of self-sacrifice are concerned, men are infinitely
+beyond us.
+
+\1 We are. \[Clasps hands with \2\]
+
+\5 They have moments of physical courage of which we women
+know absolutely nothing.
+
+\4 \[to \1\] Darling!
+
+\2 \[to \5\] Darling! \[They fall into each other's
+arms\]
+
+\[c]Enter \8 When he enters he coughs loudly,\\ seeing the
+situation\]
+
+\8 Ahem! Ahem! Lady Bracknell!
+
+\1 Good heavens!
+
+\[c]Enter \3 The couples separate in alarm.\\ Exit \8\]
+
+\3 Gwendolen! What does this mean?
+
+\4 Merely that I am engaged to be married to Mr. Worthing,
+mamma.
+
+\3 Come here. Sit down. Sit down immediately.
+Hesitation of any kind is a sign of mental decay in the young, of
+physical weakness in the old. \[Turns to \1\] Apprised, sir, of
+my daughter's sudden flight by her trusty maid, whose confidence I
+purchased by means of a small coin, I followed her at once by a
+luggage train. Her unhappy father is, I am glad to say, under the
+impression that she is attending a more than usually lengthy
+lecture by the University Extension Scheme on the Influence of a
+permanent income on Thought. I do not propose to undeceive him.
+Indeed I have never undeceived him on any question. I would
+consider it wrong. But of course, you will clearly understand that
+all communication between yourself and my daughter must cease
+immediately from this moment. On this point, as indeed on all
+points, I am firm.
+
+\1 I am engaged to be married to Gwendolen, Lady Bracknell!
+
+\3 You are nothing of the kind, sir. And now, as
+regards Algernon! . . . Algernon!
+
+\2 Yes, Aunt Augusta.
+
+\3 May I ask if it is in this house that your invalid
+friend Mr. Bunbury resides?
+
+\2 \[stammering\] Oh! No! Bunbury doesn't live here.
+Bunbury is somewhere else at present. In fact, Bunbury is dead,
+
+\3 Dead! When did Mr. Bunbury die? His death must
+have been extremely sudden.
+
+\2 \[airily\] Oh! I killed Bunbury this afternoon. I mean
+poor Bunbury died this afternoon.
+
+\3 What did he die of?
+
+\2 Bunbury? Oh, he was quite exploded.
+
+\3 Exploded! Was he the victim of a revolutionary
+outrage? I was not aware that Mr. Bunbury was interested in social
+legislation. If so, he is well punished for his morbidity.
+
+\2 My dear Aunt Augusta, I mean he was found out! The
+doctors found out that Bunbury could not live, that is what I mean
+\textemdash so Bunbury died.
+
+\3 He seems to have had great confidence in the
+opinion of his physicians. I am glad, however, that he made up his
+mind at the last to some definite course of action, and acted under
+proper medical advice. And now that we have finally got rid of
+this Mr. Bunbury, may I ask, Mr. Worthing, who is that young person
+whose hand my nephew Algernon is now holding in what seems to me a
+peculiarly unnecessary manner?
+
+\1 That lady is Miss Cecily Cardew, my ward. \[\3
+bows coldly to \5\]
+
+\2 I am engaged to be married to Cecily, Aunt Augusta.
+
+\3 I beg your pardon?
+
+\5 Mr. Moncrieff and I are engaged to be married, Lady
+Bracknell.
+
+\3 \[with a shiver, crossing to the sofa and sitting
+down\] I do not know whether there is anything peculiarly exciting
+in the air of this particular part of Hertfordshire, but the number
+of engagements that go on seems to me considerably above the proper
+average that statistics have laid down for our guidance. I think
+some preliminary inquiry on my part would not be out of place. Mr.
+Worthing, is Miss Cardew at all connected with any of the larger
+railway stations in London? I merely desire information. Until
+yesterday I had no idea that there were any families or persons
+whose origin was a Terminus. \[\1 looks perfectly furious, but
+restrains himself\]
+
+\1 \[in a clear, cold voice\] Miss Cardew is the grand-daughter
+of the late Mr. Thomas Cardew of 149 Belgrave Square, S.W.; Gervase
+Park, Dorking, Surrey; and the Sporran, Fifeshire, N.B.
+
+\3 That sounds not unsatisfactory. Three addresses
+always inspire confidence, even in tradesmen. But what proof have
+I of their authenticity?
+
+\1 I have carefully preserved the Court Guides of the period.
+They are open to your inspection, Lady Bracknell.
+
+\3 \[grimly\] I have known strange errors in that
+publication.
+
+\1 Miss Cardew's family solicitors are Messrs. Markby, Markby,
+and Markby.
+
+\3 Markby, Markby, and Markby? A firm of the very
+highest position in their profession. Indeed I am told that one of
+the Mr. Markby's is occasionally to be seen at dinner parties. So
+far I am satisfied.
+
+\1 \[very irritably\] How extremely kind of you, Lady
+Bracknell! I have also in my possession, you will be pleased to
+hear, certificates of Miss Cardew's birth, baptism, whooping cough,
+registration, vaccination, confirmation, and the measles; both the
+German and the English variety.
+
+\3 Ah! A life crowded with incident, I see; though
+perhaps somewhat too exciting for a young girl. I am not myself in
+favour of premature experiences. \[Rises, looks at her watch\]
+Gwendolen! the time approaches for our departure. We have not a
+moment to lose. As a matter of form, Mr. Worthing, I had better
+ask you if Miss Cardew has any little fortune?
+
+\1 Oh! about a hundred and thirty thousand pounds in the Funds.
+That is all. Goodbye, Lady Bracknell. So pleased to have seen
+you.
+
+\3 \[sitting down again\] A moment, Mr. Worthing. A
+hundred and thirty thousand pounds! And in the Funds! Miss Cardew
+seems to me a most attractive young lady, now that I look at her.
+Few girls of the present day have any really solid qualities, any
+of the qualities that last, and improve with time. We live, I
+regret to say, in an age of surfaces. \[To \5\] Come over
+here, dear. \[\5 goes across\] Pretty child! your dress is
+sadly simple, and your hair seems almost as Nature might have left
+it. But we can soon alter all that. A thoroughly experienced
+French maid produces a really marvellous result in a very brief
+space of time. I remember recommending one to young Lady Lancing,
+and after three months her own husband did not know her.
+
+\1 And after six months nobody knew her.
+
+\3 \[glares at \1 for a few moments. Then bends,
+with a practised smile, to \5\] Kindly turn round, sweet
+child. \[\5 turns completely round\] No, the side view is what
+I want. \[\5 presents her profile\] Yes, quite as I expected.
+There are distinct social possibilities in your profile. The two
+weak points in our age are its want of principle and its want of
+profile. The chin a little higher, dear. Style largely depends on
+the way the chin is worn. They are worn very high, just at
+present. Algernon!
+
+\2 Yes, Aunt Augusta!
+
+\3 There are distinct social possibilities in Miss
+Cardew's profile.
+
+\2 Cecily is the sweetest, dearest, prettiest girl in the
+whole world. And I don't care twopence about social possibilities.
+
+\3 Never speak disrespectfully of Society, Algernon.
+Only people who can't get into it do that. \[To \5\] Dear
+child, of course you know that Algernon has nothing but his debts
+to depend upon. But I do not approve of mercenary marriages. When
+I married Lord Bracknell I had no fortune of any kind. But I never
+dreamed for a moment of allowing that to stand in my way. Well, I
+suppose I must give my consent.
+
+\2 Thank you, Aunt Augusta.
+
+\3 Cecily, you may kiss me!
+
+\5 \[kisses her\] Thank you, Lady Bracknell.
+
+\3 You may also address me as Aunt Augusta for the
+future.
+
+\5 Thank you, Aunt Augusta.
+
+\3 The marriage, I think, had better take place quite
+soon.
+
+\2 Thank you, Aunt Augusta.
+
+\5 Thank you, Aunt Augusta.
+
+\3 To speak frankly, I am not in favour of long
+engagements. They give people the opportunity of finding out each
+other's character before marriage, which I think is never
+advisable.
+
+\1 I beg your pardon for interrupting you, Lady Bracknell, but
+this engagement is quite out of the question. I am Miss Cardew's
+guardian, and she cannot marry without my consent until she comes
+of age. That consent I absolutely decline to give.
+
+\3 Upon what grounds may I ask? Algernon is an
+extremely, I may almost say an ostentatiously, eligible young man.
+He has nothing, but he looks everything. What more can one desire?
+
+\1 It pains me very much to have to speak frankly to you, Lady
+Bracknell, about your nephew, but the fact is that I do not approve
+at all of his moral character. I suspect him of being untruthful.
+\[\2 and \5 look at him in indignant amazement\]
+
+\3 Untruthful! My nephew Algernon? Impossible! He
+is an Oxonian.
+
+\1 I fear there can be no possible doubt about the matter.
+This afternoon during my temporary absence in London on an
+important question of romance, he obtained admission to my house by
+means of the false pretence of being my brother. Under an assumed
+name he drank, I've just been informed by my butler, an entire pint
+bottle of my Perrier-Jouet, Brut, '89; wine I was specially
+reserving for myself. Continuing his disgraceful deception, he
+succeeded in the course of the afternoon in alienating the
+affections of my only ward. He subsequently stayed to tea, and
+devoured every single muffin. And what makes his conduct all the
+more heartless is, that he was perfectly well aware from the first
+that I have no brother, that I never had a brother, and that I
+don't intend to have a brother, not even of any kind. I distinctly
+told him so myself yesterday afternoon.
+
+\3 Ahem! Mr. Worthing, after careful consideration I
+have decided entirely to overlook my nephew's conduct to you.
+
+\1 That is very generous of you, Lady Bracknell. My own
+decision, however, is unalterable. I decline to give my consent.
+
+\3 \[to \5\] Come here, sweet child. \[\5
+goes over\] How old are you, dear?
+
+\5 Well, I am really only eighteen, but I always admit to
+twenty when I go to evening parties.
+
+\3 You are perfectly right in making some slight
+alteration. Indeed, no woman should ever be quite accurate about
+her age. It looks so calculating . . . \[In a meditative manner\]
+Eighteen, but admitting to twenty at evening parties. Well, it
+will not be very long before you are of age and free from the
+restraints of tutelage. So I don't think your guardian's consent
+is, after all, a matter of any importance.
+
+\1 Pray excuse me, Lady Bracknell, for interrupting you again,
+but it is only fair to tell you that according to the terms of her
+grandfather's will Miss Cardew does not come legally of age till
+she is thirty-five.
+
+\3 That does not seem to me to be a grave objection.
+Thirty-five is a very attractive age. London society is full of
+women of the very highest birth who have, of their own free choice,
+remained thirty-five for years. Lady Dumbleton is an instance in
+point. To my own knowledge she has been thirty-five ever since she
+arrived at the age of forty, which was many years ago now. I see
+no reason why our dear Cecily should not be even still more
+attractive at the age you mention than she is at present. There
+will be a large accumulation of property.
+
+\5 Algy, could you wait for me till I was thirty-five?
+
+\2 Of course I could, Cecily. You know I could.
+
+\5 Yes, I felt it instinctively, but I couldn't wait all that
+time. I hate waiting even five minutes for anybody. It always
+makes me rather cross. I am not punctual myself, I know, but I do
+like punctuality in others, and waiting, even to be married, is
+quite out of the question.
+
+\2 Then what is to be done, Cecily?
+
+\5 I don't know, Mr. Moncrieff.
+
+\3 My dear Mr. Worthing, as Miss Cardew states
+positively that she cannot wait till she is thirty-five \textemdash a remark
+which I am bound to say seems to me to show a somewhat impatient
+nature \textemdash I would beg of you to reconsider your decision.
+
+\1 But my dear Lady Bracknell, the matter is entirely in your
+own hands. The moment you consent to my marriage with Gwendolen, I
+will most gladly allow your nephew to form an alliance with my
+ward.
+
+\3 \[rising and drawing herself up\] You must be
+quite aware that what you propose is out of the question.
+
+\1 Then a passionate celibacy is all that any of us can look
+forward to.
+
+\3 That is not the destiny I propose for Gwendolen.
+Algernon, of course, can choose for himself. \[Pulls out her
+watch\] Come, dear, \[\4 rises\] we have already missed five,
+if not six, trains. To miss any more might expose us to comment on
+the platform.
+
+\[c]Enter \7\]
+
+\7 Everything is quite ready for the christenings.
+
+\3 The christenings, sir! Is not that somewhat
+premature?
+
+\7 \[looking rather puzzled, and pointing to \1 and
+\2\] Both these gentlemen have expressed a desire for
+immediate baptism.
+
+\3 At their age? The idea is grotesque and
+irreligious! Algernon, I forbid you to be baptized. I will not
+hear of such excesses. Lord Bracknell would be highly displeased
+if he learned that that was the way in which you wasted your time
+and money.
+
+\7 Am I to understand then that there are to he no
+christenings at all this afternoon?
+
+\1 I don't think that, as things are now, it would be of much
+practical value to either of us, Dr.~Chasuble.
+
+\7 I am grieved to hear such sentiments from you, Mr.
+Worthing. They savour of the heretical views of the Anabaptists,
+views that I have completely refuted in four of my unpublished
+sermons. However, as your present mood seems to be one peculiarly
+secular, I will return to the church at once. Indeed, I have just
+been informed by the pew-opener that for the last hour and a half
+Miss Prism has been waiting for me in the vestry.
+
+\3 \[starting\] Miss Prism! Did I bear you mention a
+Miss Prism?
+
+\7 Yes, Lady Bracknell. I am on my way to join her.
+
+\3 Pray allow me to detain you for a moment. This
+matter may prove to be one of vital importance to Lord Bracknell
+and myself. Is this Miss Prism a female of repellent aspect,
+remotely connected with education?
+
+\7 \[somewhat indignantly\] She is the most cultivated of
+ladies, and the very picture of respectability.
+
+\3 It is obviously the same person. May I ask what
+position she holds in your household?
+
+\7 \[severely\] I am a celibate, madam.
+
+\1 \[interposing\] Miss Prism, Lady Bracknell, has been for the
+last three years Miss Cardew's esteemed governess and valued
+companion.
+
+\3 In spite of what I hear of her, I must see her at
+once. Let her be sent for.
+
+\7 \[looking off\] She approaches; she is nigh.
+
+\[c]Enter \6 hurriedly\]
+
+\6 I was told you expected me in the vestry, dear Canon.
+I have been waiting for you there for an hour and three-quarters.
+\[Catches sight of \3, who has fixed her with a stony
+glare. \6 grows pale and quails. She looks anxiously
+round as if desirous to escape\]
+
+\3 \[in a severe, judicial voice\] Prism! \[\6
+bows her head in shame\] Come here, Prism! \[\6
+approaches in a humble manner\] Prism! Where is that baby?
+\[General consternation. The Canon starts back in horror. \2
+and \1 pretend to be anxious to shield \5 and \4 from
+hearing the details of a terrible public scandal\] Twenty-eight
+years ago, Prism, you left Lord Bracknell's house, Number 104,
+Upper Grosvenor Street, in charge of a perambulator that contained
+a baby of the male sex. You never returned. A few weeks later,
+through the elaborate investigations of the Metropolitan police,
+the perambulator was discovered at midnight, standing by itself in
+a remote corner of Bayswater. It contained the manuscript of a
+three-volume novel of more than usually revolting sentimentality.
+\[\6 starts in involuntary indignation\] But the baby was
+not there! \[Every one looks at \6\] Prism! Where is that
+baby? \[A pause\]
+
+\6 Lady Bracknell, I admit with shame that I do not know.
+I only wish I did. The plain facts of the case are these. On the
+morning of the day you mention, a day that is for ever branded on
+my memory, I prepared as usual to take the baby out in its
+perambulator. I had also with me a somewhat old, but capacious
+hand-bag in which I had intended to place the manuscript of a work
+of fiction that I had written during my few unoccupied hours. In a
+moment of mental abstraction, for which I never can forgive myself,
+I deposited the manuscript in the basinette, and placed the baby in
+the hand-bag.
+
+\1 \[who has been listening attentively\] But where did you
+deposit the hand-bag?
+
+\6 Do not ask me, Mr. Worthing.
+
+\1 Miss Prism, this is a matter of no small importance to me.
+I insist on knowing where you deposited the hand-bag that contained
+that infant.
+
+\6 I left it in the cloak-room of one of the larger
+railway stations in London.
+
+\1 What railway station?
+
+\6 \[quite crushed\] Victoria. The Brighton line. \[Sinks into a chair\]
+
+\1 I must retire to my room for a moment. Gwendolen, wait here
+for me.
+
+\4 If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all
+my life.
+
+\[c]Exit \1 in great excitement\]
+
+\7 What do you think this means, Lady Bracknell?
+
+\3 I dare not even suspect, Dr.~Chasuble. I need
+hardly tell you that in families of high position strange
+coincidences are not supposed to occur. They are hardly considered
+the thing.
+
+\[c]Noises heard overhead as if some one was throwing trunks about.\\
+Every one looks up\]
+
+\5 Uncle Jack seems strangely agitated.
+
+\7 Your guardian has a very emotional nature.
+
+\3 This noise is extremely unpleasant. It sounds as
+if he was having an argument. I dislike arguments of any kind.
+They are always vulgar, and often convincing.
+
+\7 \[looking up\] It has stopped now. \[The noise is
+redoubled\]
+
+\3 I wish he would arrive at some conclusion.
+
+\4 This suspense is terrible. I hope it will last.
+
+\[c]Enter \1 with a hand-bag of black leather in his hand\]
+
+\1 \[rushing over to \6\] Is this the handbag, Miss
+Prism? Examine it carefully before you speak. The happiness of
+more than one life depends on your answer.
+
+\6 \[calmly\] It seems to be mine. Yes, here is the
+injury it received through the upsetting of a Gower Street omnibus
+in younger and happier days. Here is the stain on the lining
+caused by the explosion of a temperance beverage, an incident that
+occurred at Leamington. And here, on the lock, are my initials. I
+had forgotten that in an extravagant mood I had had them placed
+there. The bag is undoubtedly mine. I am delighted to have it so
+unexpectedly restored to me. It has been a great inconvenience
+being without it all these years.
+
+\1 \[in a pathetic voice\] Miss Prism, more is restored to you
+than this hand-bag. I was the baby you placed in it.
+
+\6 \[amazed\] You?
+
+\1 \[embracing her\] Yes . . . mother!
+
+\6 \[recoiling in indignant astonishment\] Mr. Worthing!
+I am unmarried
+
+\1 Unmarried! I do not deny that is a serious blow. But after
+all, who has the right to cast a stone against one who has
+suffered? Cannot repentance wipe out an act of folly? Why should
+there be one law for men, and another for women? Mother, I forgive
+you. \[Tries to embrace her again\]
+
+\6 \[still more indignant\] Mr. Worthing, there is some
+error. \[Pointing to \3\] There is the lady who can
+tell you who you really are.
+
+\1 \[after a pause\] Lady Bracknell, I hate to seem
+inquisitive, but would you kindly inform me who I am?
+
+\3 I am afraid that the news I have to give you will
+not altogether please you. You are the son of my poor sister, Mrs.
+Moncrieff, and consequently Algernon's elder brother.
+
+\1 Algy's elder brother! Then I have a brother after all. I
+knew I had a brother! I always said I had a brother! Cecily,
+\textemdash
+how could you have ever doubted that I had a brother? \[Seizes hold
+of \2\] Dr.~Chasuble, my unfortunate brother. Miss Prism,
+my unfortunate brother. Gwendolen, my unfortunate brother. Algy,
+you young scoundrel, you will have to treat me with more respect in
+the future. You have never behaved to me like a brother in all
+your life.
+
+\2 Well, not till to-day, old boy, I admit. I did my best,
+however, though I was out of practice.
+
+\[c]Shakes hands\]
+
+\4 \[to \1\] My own! But what own are you? What is
+your Christian name, now that you have become some one else?
+
+\1 Good heavens! . . . I had quite forgotten that point. Your
+decision on the subject of my name is irrevocable, I suppose?
+
+\4 I never change, except in my affections.
+
+\5 What a noble nature you have, Gwendolen!
+
+\1 Then the question had better be cleared up at once. Aunt
+Augusta, a moment. At the time when Miss Prism left me in the
+hand-bag, had I been christened already?
+
+\3 {\hbadness=1500
+ Every luxury that money could buy, including \break
+christening, had been lavished on you by your fond and doting
+parents.}
+
+\1 Then I was christened! That is settled. Now, what name was
+I given? Let me know the worst.
+
+\3 Being the eldest son you were naturally christened
+after your father.
+
+\1 \[irritably\] Yes, but what was my father's Christian name?
+
+\3 \[meditatively\] I cannot at the present moment
+recall what the General's Christian name was. But I have no doubt
+he had one. He was eccentric, I admit. But only in later years.
+And that was the result of the Indian climate, and marriage, and
+indigestion, and other things of that kind.
+
+\1 Algy! Can't you recollect what our father's Christian name
+was?
+
+\2 My dear boy, we were never even on speaking terms. He
+died before I was a year old.
+
+\1 His name would appear in the Army Lists of the period, I
+suppose, Aunt Augusta?
+
+\3 The General was essentially a man of peace, except
+in his domestic life. But I have no doubt his name would appear in
+any military directory.
+
+\1 The Army Lists of the last forty years are here. These
+delightful records should have been my constant study. \[Rushes to
+bookcase and tears the books out\] M. Generals . . . Mallam,
+Maxbohm, Magley, what ghastly names they have \textemdash Markby, Migsby,
+Mobbs, Moncrieff! Lieutenant 1840, Captain, Lieutenant-Colonel,
+Colonel, General 1869, Christian names, Ernest John. \[Puts book
+very quietly down and speaks quite calmly\] I always told you,
+Gwendolen, my name was Ernest, didn't I? Well, it is Ernest after
+all. I mean it naturally is Ernest.
+
+\3 Yes, I remember now that the General was called
+Ernest, I knew I had some particular reason for disliking the name.
+
+\4 Ernest! My own Ernest! I felt from the first that you
+could have no other name!
+
+\1 Gwendolen, it is a terrible thing for a man to find out
+suddenly that all his life he has been speaking nothing but the
+truth. Can you forgive me?
+
+\4 I can. For I feel that you are sure to change.
+
+\1 My own one!
+
+\7 \[to \6\] Laetitia! \[Embraces her\]
+
+\6 \[enthusiastically\] Frederick! At last!
+
+\2 Cecily! \[Embraces her\] At last!
+
+\1 Gwendolen! \[Embraces her\] At last!
+
+\3 My nephew, you seem to be displaying signs of
+triviality.
+
+\1 On the contrary, Aunt Augusta, I've now realised for the
+first time in my life the vital Importance of Being Earnest.
+
+\spatium {2\leading}
+\titulus {\scshape tableau\\[1\leading] curtain}
+\endDrama
+
+\end{document}