Elizabeth InchbaldREMARKS [on Know Your Own Mind].¹
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Mr. Murphy, in his prologue to this drama, assured the audience, that it should be his last—and he kept his word.² He dreaded a decrease in reputation by courting too long the favour of the Muses; in whose service, wearied by incessant labour, he perceived he should soon lose that poetic ardour, the indispensable requisite for all their successful votaries.

The reception which "Know your own Mind," obtained from the town, the admiration it gained, both for its characters and dialogue, might have tempted a less discreet man than the author, to have ventured once more his credit as a dramatist: but with all the flattering joy he received from this play, its high repute, its great attraction, there quickly arose an event in the theatrical world, which changed all his laudable pride into humility; and every delight of a prosperous author, to a certain degree of repining.

That well-known star in the dramatic firmament, which outsparkles every other, "The School for Scandal," made its first appearance at Drury Lane; whilst "Know your own Mind," was in the zenith of its power at Covent Garden.³

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The author of the last named comedy, has been heard to say, that he could have borne, without regret, the brilliancy of a rival drama, which had wholly extinguished the blaze of his own; but that he felt a poet's peevish pang on being outshone just as that very identical time, and just upon his own identical subject.

The reader will observe, before he has proceeded far in the following play, that an inclination to scandal is the prominent trait of the first character of the piece, Dashwould; that the wit of the whole composition depends chiefly upon descanting on the faults of the absent; and that the hypocrisy of Malvil, joined to his love of slander, gives him many of the features, in miniature, of Joseph Surface and Mrs. Candour.⁴ —"There was one solitary comfort in all my chagrin on this occasion," Mr. Murphy has been heard to say; "My comedy was brought out first; if it had chanced to have appeared a few months after Mr. Sheridan's, I should have had the additional mortification of being accused of plagiary."⁵

But although of these two comedies the corner stones are nearly the same, their superstructures are almost wholly different. Fable, incidents, and even most of their characters, are totally unlike. Still, an unhappy contour makes the present play continually bring to memory the play of "The School for Scandal," to its own disadvantage; whilst "The School for Scandal," which rises in value by the [Page 5]comparison, never once brings to recollection "Know your own Mind."

To an unfortunate accident like this, which befell Mr. Murphy, every author is, of course, liable; but that two unfortunate accidents, of the very same kind, should befall the same unfortunate author, in the space of a few years, is somewhat extraordinary: and yet it is certain, that Mr. Murphy's comedy of "All in the Wrong," in which jealousy is the prevailing passion of every character, was performed under all the disadvantages that could arise from the concurrent representation of Mr. Colman's "Jealous Wife."⁶

With all that merit which the reader will acknowledge in the comedy before him, he will find, in the characters of Mrs. Bromley, and her niece, that the author has there sunk into a sentimental common place, and whining insipidity; degrading to his usual novelty and spirit. It is not only very customary in plays and novels, but very unjust, to delineate a benefactor mostly cruel, and a dependant always patient. Ingratitude is, surely, a crime much more general than that of tyranny. Few minds have strength to support, with fortutude, the weight of obligations—less virtue is requisite for bestowing with generosity: and when faults arise between the giver and the receiver of benefits, suspicion should ever be awake to him or her who has the most perilous duty to perform. "To love our enemies," seems like a severe ordinance; and yet, to many susceptible but arrogantb 3[Page 6] minds, the harder precept is—to love our friends.—But, granting that a protector is sure to be a tyrant; there is a character in compact with him, more hateful, more detestable still—the wretch, who takes his bribe to be a slave.

Millamour, and Lady Bell, are both admirable persons on the stage; although the reader, who never saw them there, may not conceive them to be so; for these whimsical lovers, and all the occurrences in which they are concerned, are such, as depend upon action more than upon words. The exposure of Millamour's verses, by the three different females at the same time—his pleasant unsteadiness of resolution upon every new desire that assails him, and his final rapturous submission to the melody of Lady Bell's vocal talents, are all incidents highly to be improved by countenance and gesture—in which the actor's colouring alone, brings forth the author's true design.⁷