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OSCAR WILDE’S
THE IMPORTANCE OF
BEING EARNEST
 THE IMPORTANCE OF
BEING EARNEST
A Trivial Comedy for Serious People
by Oscar Wilde

John (JACK) Worthington, J.P.

ALGERNON Moncrieff
Rev. Canon CHASUBLE, D.D.
MERRIMAN, Butler
LANE, Manservant
LADY BRACKNELL
Hon. GWENDOLEN Fairfax
CECILY Cardew
MISS PRISM, Governess

THE SCENES OF THE PLAY

ACT I.  Algernon Moncrieff’s Flat in Half-Moon Street, W.

ACT II.  The Garden at the Manor House, Woolton.
ACT III.  Drawing-Room at the Manor House, Woolton.

TIME: The Present.

The Importance of Being Earnest: A Trivial Comedy for Serious

People
by Oscar Wilde

Formatting 2009 by Royalty Free Plays

http://www.royaltyfreeplays.com
 The Importance of Being Earnest The Importance of Being Earnest

ACT I LANE:  No, sir; it is not a very interesting subject.  I never think of it
myself.

SCENE: Morning-room in Algernon’s flat in Half-Moon Street.  The ALGERNON:  Very natural, I am sure.  That will do, Lane, thank you.
room is luxuriously and artistically furnished.  The sound of a piano is
heard in the adjoining room. LANE:  Thank you, sir.  [Lane goes out.]

[Lane is arranging afternoon tea on the table, and after the music has ALGERNON:  Lane’s views on marriage seem somewhat lax.  Really, if
ceased, Algernon enters.] 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
ALGERNON:  Did you hear what I was playing, Lane? responsibility.

LANE:  I didn’t think it polite to listen, sir. [Enter Lane.]

ALGERNON:  I’m sorry for that, for your sake.  I don’t play accurately— LANE:  Mr. Ernest Worthing.
any one can play accurately—but I play with wonderful expression.  As
far as the piano is concerned, sentiment is my forte.  I keep science for [Enter Jack.]
Life.
[Lane goes out.]
LANE:  Yes, sir.
ALGERNON:  How are you, my dear Ernest?  What brings you up to
ALGERNON:  And, speaking of the science of Life, have you got the town?
cucumber sandwiches cut for Lady Bracknell?
JACK:  Oh, pleasure, pleasure!  What else should bring one anywhere? 
LANE:  Yes, sir.  [Hands them on a salver.] Eating as usual, I see, Algy!

ALGERNON:  [Inspects them, takes two, and sits down on the sofa.]  ALGERNON:  [Stiffly.]  I believe it is customary in good society to take
Oh! . . . by the way, Lane, I see from your book that on Thursday night, some slight refreshment at five o’clock.  Where have you been since last
when Lord Shoreman and Mr. Worthing were dining with me, eight Thursday?
bottles of champagne are entered as having been consumed.
JACK:  [Sitting down on the sofa.]  In the country.
LANE:  Yes, sir; eight bottles and a pint.
ALGERNON:  What on earth do you do there?
ALGERNON:  Why is it that at a bachelor’s establishment the servants
invariably drink the champagne?  I ask merely for information. JACK:  [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
LANE:  I attribute it to the superior quality of the wine, sir.  I have often boring.
observed that in married households the champagne is rarely of a first-
rate brand. ALGERNON:  And who are the people you amuse?

ALGERNON:  Good heavens!  Is marriage so demoralising as that? JACK:  [Airily.]  Oh, neighbours, neighbours.

LANE:  I believe it is a very pleasant state, sir.  I have had very little ALGERNON:  Got nice neighbours in your part of Shropshire?
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 JACK:  Perfectly horrid!  Never speak to one of them.
young person.
ALGERNON:  How immensely you must amuse them!  [Goes over and
ALGERNON:  [Languidly.]  I don’t know that I am much interested in takes sandwich.]  By the way, Shropshire is your county, is it not?
your family life, Lane.
JACK:  Eh?  Shropshire?  Yes, of course.  Hallo!  Why all these cups? 
Why cucumber sandwiches?  Why such reckless extravagance in one so
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young?  Who is coming to tea? are not married to her already, and I don’t think you ever will be.

ALGERNON:  Oh! merely Aunt Augusta and Gwendolen. JACK:  Why on earth do you say that?

JACK:  How perfectly delightful! ALGERNON:  Well, in the first place girls never marry the men they flirt
with.  Girls don’t think it right.
ALGERNON:  Yes, that is all very well; but I am afraid Aunt Augusta
won’t quite approve of your being here. JACK:  Oh, that is nonsense!

JACK:  May I ask why? ALGERNON:  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
ALGERNON:  My dear fellow, the way you flirt with Gwendolen is second place, I don’t give my consent.
perfectly disgraceful.  It is almost as bad as the way Gwendolen flirts
with you. JACK:  Your consent!

JACK:  I am in love with Gwendolen.  I have come up to town expressly ALGERNON:  My dear fellow, Gwendolen is my first cousin.  And
to propose to her. before I allow you to marry her, you will have to clear up the whole
question of Cecily.  [Rings bell.]
ALGERNON:  I thought you had come up for pleasure? . . . I call that
business. JACK:  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.
JACK:  How utterly unromantic you are!
[Enter Lane.]
ALGERNON:  I really don’t see anything romantic in proposing.  It
is very romantic to be in love.  But there is nothing romantic about ALGERNON:  Bring me that cigarette case Mr. Worthing left in the
a definite proposal.  Why, one may be accepted.  One usually is, I smoking-room the last time he dined here.
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. LANE:  Yes, sir.  [Lane goes out.]

JACK:  I have no doubt about that, dear Algy.  The Divorce Court JACK:  Do you mean to say you have had my cigarette case all this
was specially invented for people whose memories are so curiously time?  I wish to goodness you had let me know.  I have been writing
constituted. frantic letters to Scotland Yard about it.  I was very nearly offering a large
reward.
ALGERNON:  Oh! there is no use speculating on that subject.  Divorces
are made in Heaven—[Jack puts out his hand to take a sandwich.  ALGERNON:  Well, I wish you would offer one.  I happen to be more
Algernon at once interferes.]  Please don’t touch the cucumber than usually hard up.
sandwiches.  They are ordered specially for Aunt Augusta.  [Takes one
and eats it.] JACK:  There is no good offering a large reward now that the thing is
found.
JACK:  Well, you have been eating them all the time.
[Enter Lane with the cigarette case on a salver.  Algernon takes it at once. 
ALGERNON:  That is quite a different matter.  She is my aunt.  [Takes Lane goes out.]
plate from below.]  Have some bread and butter.  The bread and butter is
for Gwendolen.  Gwendolen is devoted to bread and butter. ALGERNON:  I think that is rather mean of you, Ernest, I must say. 
[Opens case and examines it.]  However, it makes no matter, for, now
JACK:  [Advancing to table and helping himself.]  And very good bread that I look at the inscription inside, I find that the thing isn’t yours after
and butter it is too. all.

ALGERNON:  Well, my dear fellow, you need not eat as if you were JACK:  Of course it’s mine.  [Moving to him.]  You have seen me with it a
going to eat it all.  You behave as if you were married to her already.  You hundred times, and you have no right whatsoever to read what is written
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inside.  It is a very ungentlemanly thing to read a private cigarette case. cigarette case was given to me in the country.

ALGERNON:  Oh! it is absurd to have a hard and fast rule about what ALGERNON:  Yes, but that does not account for the fact that your small
one should read and what one shouldn’t.  More than half of modern Aunt Cecily, who lives at Tunbridge Wells, calls you her dear uncle. 
culture depends on what one shouldn’t read. Come, old boy, you had much better have the thing out at once.

JACK:  I am quite aware of the fact, and I don’t propose to discuss JACK:  My dear Algy, you talk exactly as if you were a dentist.  It is very
modern culture.  It isn’t the sort of thing one should talk of in private.  I vulgar to talk like a dentist when one isn’t a dentist.  It produces a false
simply want my cigarette case back. impression.

ALGERNON:  Yes; but this isn’t your cigarette case.  This cigarette case ALGERNON:  Well, that is exactly what dentists always do.  Now, go
is a present from some one of the name of Cecily, and you said you on!  Tell me the whole thing.  I may mention that I have always suspected
didn’t know any one of that name. you of being a confirmed and secret Bunburyist; and I am quite sure of it
now.
JACK:  Well, if you want to know, Cecily happens to be my aunt.
JACK:  Bunburyist? What on earth do you mean by a Bunburyist?
ALGERNON:  Your aunt!
ALGERNON:  I’ll reveal to you the meaning of that incomparable
JACK:  Yes.  Charming old lady she is, too.  Lives at Tunbridge Wells.  expression as soon as you are kind enough to inform me why you are
Just give it back to me, Algy. Ernest in town and Jack in the country.

ALGERNON:  [Retreating to back of sofa.]  But why does she call herself JACK:  Well, produce my cigarette case first.
little Cecily if she is your aunt and lives at Tunbridge Wells?  [Reading.] 
‘From little Cecily with her fondest love.’ ALGERNON:  Here it is.  [Hands cigarette case.]  Now produce your
explanation, and pray make it improbable.  [Sits on sofa.]
JACK:  [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 JACK:  My dear fellow, there is nothing improbable about my
is a matter that surely an aunt may be allowed to decide for herself.  You explanation at all.  In fact it’s perfectly ordinary.  Old Mr. Thomas
seem to think that every aunt should be exactly like your aunt!  That is Cardew, who adopted me when I was a little boy, made me in his will
absurd!  For Heaven’s sake give me back my cigarette case.  [Follows guardian to his grand-daughter, Miss Cecily Cardew.  Cecily, who
Algernon round the room.] 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
ALGERNON:  Yes.  But why does your aunt call you her uncle?  ‘From her admirable governess, Miss Prism.
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 ALGERNON:  Where is that place in the country, by the way?
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. JACK:  That is nothing to you, dear boy.  You are not going to be invited
. . . I may tell you candidly that the place is not in Shropshire.
JACK:  It isn’t Ernest; it’s Jack.
ALGERNON:  I suspected that, my dear fellow!  I have Bunburyed all
ALGERNON:  You have always told me it was Ernest.  I have introduced over Shropshire on two separate occasions.  Now, go on.  Why are you
you to every one as Ernest.  You answer to the name of Ernest.  You look Ernest in town and Jack in the country?
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 JACK:  My dear Algy, I don’t know whether you will be able to
isn’t Ernest.  It’s on your cards.  Here is one of them.  [Taking it from understand my real motives.  You are hardly serious enough.  When one
case.]  ‘Mr. Ernest Worthing, B. 4, The Albany.’  I’ll keep this as a proof is placed in the position of guardian, one has to adopt a very high moral
that your name is Ernest if ever you attempt to deny it to me, or to tone on all subjects.  It’s one’s duty to do so.  And as a high moral tone
Gwendolen, or to any one else.  [Puts the card in his pocket.] 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
JACK:  Well, my name is Ernest in town and Jack in the country, and the younger brother of the name of Ernest, who lives in the Albany, and gets
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into the most dreadful scrapes.  That, my dear Algy, is the whole truth to kill my brother, indeed I think I’ll kill him in any case.  Cecily is a little
pure and simple. 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. . . . with
ALGERNON:  The truth is rarely pure and never simple.  Modern life your invalid friend who has the absurd name.
would be very tedious if it were either, and modern literature a complete
impossibility! ALGERNON:  Nothing will induce me to part with Bunbury, and if you
ever get married, which seems to me extremely problematic, you will
JACK:  That wouldn’t be at all a bad thing. be very glad to know Bunbury.  A man who marries without knowing
Bunbury has a very tedious time of it.
ALGERNON:  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 JACK:  That is nonsense.  If I marry a charming girl like Gwendolen, and
University.  They do it so well in the daily papers.  What you really are is she is the only girl I ever saw in my life that I would marry, I certainly
a Bunburyist.  I was quite right in saying you were a Bunburyist.  You are won’t want to know Bunbury.
one of the most advanced Bunburyists I know.
ALGERNON:  Then your wife will.  You don’t seem to realise, that in
JACK:  What on earth do you mean? married life three is company and two is none.

ALGERNON:  You have invented a very useful younger brother called JACK:  [Sententiously.]  That, my dear young friend, is the theory that
Ernest, in order that you may be able to come up to town as often as you the corrupt French Drama has been propounding for the last fifty years.
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.  ALGERNON:  Yes; and that the happy English home has proved in half
Bunbury is perfectly invaluable.  If it wasn’t for Bunbury’s extraordinary the time.
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 JACK:  For heaven’s sake, don’t try to be cynical.  It’s perfectly easy to be
week. cynical.

JACK:  I haven’t asked you to dine with me anywhere to-night. ALGERNON:  My dear fellow, it isn’t easy to be anything nowadays. 
There’s such a lot of beastly competition about.  [The sound of an
ALGERNON:  I know.  You are absurdly careless about sending out electric bell is heard.]  Ah! that must be Aunt Augusta.  Only relatives,
invitations.  It is very foolish of you.  Nothing annoys people so much as or creditors, ever ring in that Wagnerian manner.  Now, if I get her out
not receiving invitations. 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?
JACK:  You had much better dine with your Aunt Augusta.
JACK:  I suppose so, if you want to.
ALGERNON:  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 ALGERNON:  Yes, but you must be serious about it.  I hate people who
enough to dine with one’s own relations.  In the second place, whenever are not serious about meals.  It is so shallow of them.
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 [Enter Lane.]
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 LANE:  Lady Bracknell and Miss Fairfax.
the dinner-table.  That is not very pleasant.  Indeed, it is not even decent
. . . and that sort of thing is enormously on the increase.  The amount [Algernon goes forward to meet them.  Enter Lady Bracknell and
of women in London who flirt with their own husbands is perfectly Gwendolen.]
scandalous.  It looks so bad.  It is simply washing one’s clean linen in
public.  Besides, now that I know you to be a confirmed Bunburyist I LADY BRACKNELL:  Good afternoon, dear Algernon, I hope you are
naturally want to talk to you about Bunburying.  I want to tell you the behaving very well.
rules.
ALGERNON:  I’m feeling very well, Aunt Augusta.
JACK:  I’m not a Bunburyist at all.  If Gwendolen accepts me, I am going
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LADY BRACKNELL:  That’s not quite the same thing.  In fact the two you down with Mary Farquhar.  She is such a nice woman, and so
things rarely go together.  [Sees Jack and bows to him with icy coldness.] attentive to her husband.  It’s delightful to watch them.

ALGERNON:  [To Gwendolen.]  Dear me, you are smart! ALGERNON:  I am afraid, Aunt Augusta, I shall have to give up the
pleasure of dining with you to-night after all.
GWENDOLEN:  I am always smart!  Am I not, Mr. Worthing?
LADY BRACKNELL:  [Frowning.]  I hope not, Algernon.  It would
JACK:  You’re quite perfect, Miss Fairfax. put my table completely out.  Your uncle would have to dine upstairs. 
Fortunately he is accustomed to that.
GWENDOLEN:  Oh! I hope I am not that.  It would leave no room for
developments, and I intend to develop in many directions.  [Gwendolen ALGERNON:  It is a great bore, and, I need hardly say, a terrible
and Jack sit down together in the corner.] 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
LADY BRACKNELL:  I’m sorry if we are a little late, Algernon, but I Jack.]  They seem to think I should be with him.
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 LADY BRACKNELL:  It is very strange.  This Mr. Bunbury seems to
twenty years younger.  And now I’ll have a cup of tea, and one of those suffer from curiously bad health.
nice cucumber sandwiches you promised me.
ALGERNON:  Yes; poor Bunbury is a dreadful invalid.
ALGERNON:  Certainly, Aunt Augusta.  [Goes over to tea-table.]
LADY BRACKNELL:  Well, I must say, Algernon, that I think it is high
LADY BRACKNELL:  Won’t you come and sit here, Gwendolen? 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
GWENDOLEN:  Thanks, mamma, I’m quite comfortable where I am. 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
ALGERNON:  [Picking up empty plate in horror.]  Good heavens!  Lane!  others.  Health is the primary duty of life.  I am always telling that to
Why are there no cucumber sandwiches?  I ordered them specially. your poor uncle, but he never seems to take much notice . . . as far as
any improvement in his ailment goes.  I should be much obliged if
LANE:  [Gravely.]  There were no cucumbers in the market this morning, you would ask Mr. Bunbury, from me, to be kind enough not to have
sir.  I went down twice. 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
ALGERNON:  No cucumbers! conversation, particularly at the end of the season when every one has
practically said whatever they had to say, which, in most cases, was
LANE:  No, sir.  Not even for ready money.
probably not much.
ALGERNON:  That will do, Lane, thank you.
ALGERNON:  I’ll speak to Bunbury, Aunt Augusta, if he is still
LANE:  Thank you, sir.  [Goes out.] 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
ALGERNON:  I am greatly distressed, Aunt Augusta, about there being music, people don’t listen, and if one plays bad music people don’t talk. 
no cucumbers, not even for ready money. But I’ll run over the programme I’ve drawn out, if you will kindly come
into the next room for a moment.
LADY BRACKNELL:  It really makes no matter, Algernon.  I had some
crumpets with Lady Harbury, who seems to me to be living entirely for LADY BRACKNELL:  Thank you, Algernon.  It is very thoughtful of
pleasure now. you.  [Rising, and following Algernon.]  I’m sure the programme will
be delightful, after a few expurgations.  French songs I cannot possibly
ALGERNON:  I hear her hair has turned quite gold from grief. allow.  People always seem to think that they are improper, and either
look shocked, which is vulgar, or laugh, which is worse.  But German
LADY BRACKNELL:  It certainly has changed its colour.  From what sounds a thoroughly respectable language, and indeed, I believe is so. 
cause I, of course, cannot say.  [Algernon crosses and hands tea.]  Thank Gwendolen, you will accompany me.
you.  I’ve quite a treat for you to-night, Algernon.  I am going to send
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GWENDOLEN:  Certainly, mamma. JACK:  Yes, I know it is.  But supposing it was something else?  Do you
mean to say you couldn’t love me then?
[Lady Bracknell and Algernon go into the music-room, Gwendolen
remains behind.] GWENDOLEN:  [Glibly.]  Ah! that is clearly a metaphysical speculation,
and like most metaphysical speculations has very little reference at all to
JACK:  Charming day it has been, Miss Fairfax. the actual facts of real life, as we know them.

GWENDOLEN:  Pray don’t talk to me about the weather, Mr. Worthing.  JACK:  Personally, darling, to speak quite candidly, I don’t much care
Whenever people talk to me about the weather, I always feel quite about the name of Ernest . . . I don’t think the name suits me at all.
certain that they mean something else.  And that makes me so nervous.
GWENDOLEN:  It suits you perfectly.  It is a divine name.  It has a
JACK:  I do mean something else. music of its own.  It produces vibrations.

GWENDOLEN:  I thought so.  In fact, I am never wrong. JACK:  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.
JACK:  And I would like to be allowed to take advantage of Lady
Bracknell’s temporary absence . . . GWENDOLEN:  Jack? . . . No, there is very little music in the name
Jack, if any at all, indeed.  It does not thrill.  It produces absolutely
GWENDOLEN:  I would certainly advise you to do so.  Mamma has a no vibrations . . . I have known several Jacks, and they all, without
way of coming back suddenly into a room that I have often had to speak exception, were more than usually plain.  Besides, Jack is a notorious
to her about. 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
JACK:  [Nervously.]  Miss Fairfax, ever since I met you I have admired entrancing pleasure of a single moment’s solitude.  The only really safe
you more than any girl . . . I have ever met since . . . I met you. name is Ernest
GWENDOLEN:  Yes, I am quite well aware of the fact.  And I often wish JACK:  Gwendolen, I must get christened at once—I mean we must get
that in public, at any rate, you had been more demonstrative.  For me married at once.  There is no time to be lost.
you have always had an irresistible fascination.  Even before I met you
I was far from indifferent to you.  [Jack looks at her in amazement.]  We GWENDOLEN:  Married, Mr. Worthing?
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 JACK:  [Astounded.]  Well . . . surely.  You know that I love you, and you
has reached the provincial pulpits, I am told; and my ideal has always led me to believe, Miss Fairfax, that you were not absolutely indifferent
been to love some one of the name of Ernest.  There is something in to me.
that name that inspires absolute confidence.  The moment Algernon
first mentioned to me that he had a friend called Ernest, I knew I was GWENDOLEN:  I adore you.  But you haven’t proposed to me yet. 
destined to love you. Nothing has been said at all about marriage.  The subject has not even
been touched on.
JACK:  You really love me, Gwendolen?
JACK:  Well . . . may I propose to you now?
GWENDOLEN:  Passionately!
GWENDOLEN:  I think it would be an admirable opportunity.  And to
JACK:  Darling!  You don’t know how happy you’ve made me. 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
GWENDOLEN:  My own Ernest! you.
JACK:  But you don’t really mean to say that you couldn’t love me if my JACK:  Gwendolen!
name wasn’t Ernest?
GWENDOLEN:  Yes, Mr. Worthing, what have you got to say to me?
GWENDOLEN:  But your name is Ernest.
JACK:  You know what I have got to say to you.
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GWENDOLEN:  Yes, but you don’t say it. [Looks in her pocket for note-book and pencil.]

JACK:  Gwendolen, will you marry me?  [Goes on his knees.] JACK:  Thank you, Lady Bracknell, I prefer standing.

GWENDOLEN:  Of course I will, darling.  How long you have been LADY BRACKNELL:  [Pencil and note-book in hand.]  I feel bound
about it!  I am afraid you have had very little experience in how to to tell you that you are not down on my list of eligible young men,
propose. 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,
JACK:  My own one, I have never loved any one in the world but you. should your answers be what a really affectionate mother requires.  Do
you smoke?
GWENDOLEN:  Yes, but men often propose for practice.  I know my
brother Gerald does.  All my girl-friends tell me so.  What wonderfully JACK:  Well, yes, I must admit I smoke.
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 LADY BRACKNELL:  I am glad to hear it.  A man should always have
present.  [Enter Lady Bracknell.] an occupation of some kind.  There are far too many idle men in London
as it is.  How old are you?
LADY BRACKNELL:  Mr. Worthing!  Rise, sir, from this semi-
recumbent posture.  It is most indecorous. JACK:  Twenty-nine.

GWENDOLEN:  Mamma!  [He tries to rise; she restrains him.]  I must LADY BRACKNELL:  A very good age to be married at.  I have always
beg you to retire.  This is no place for you.  Besides, Mr. Worthing has been of opinion that a man who desires to get married should know
not quite finished yet. either everything or nothing.  Which do you know?

LADY BRACKNELL:  Finished what, may I ask? JACK:  [After some hesitation.]  I know nothing, Lady Bracknell.

GWENDOLEN:  I am engaged to Mr. Worthing, mamma.  [They rise LADY BRACKNELL:  I am pleased to hear it.  I do not approve of
together.] anything that tampers with natural ignorance.  Ignorance is like a
delicate exotic fruit; touch it and the bloom is gone.  The whole theory of
LADY BRACKNELL:  Pardon me, you are not engaged to any one.  modern education is radically unsound.  Fortunately in England, at any
When you do become engaged to some one, I, or your father, should his rate, education produces no effect whatsoever.  If it did, it would prove a
health permit him, will inform you of the fact.  An engagement should serious danger to the upper classes, and probably lead to acts of violence
come on a young girl as a surprise, pleasant or unpleasant, as the case in Grosvenor Square.  What is your income?
may be.  It is hardly a matter that she could be allowed to arrange for
herself . . . And now I have a few questions to put to you, Mr. Worthing.  JACK:  Between seven and eight thousand a year.
While I am making these inquiries, you, Gwendolen, will wait for me
below in the carriage. LADY BRACKNELL:  [Makes a note in her book.]  In land, or in
investments?
GWENDOLEN:  [Reproachfully.]  Mamma!
JACK:  In investments, chiefly.
LADY BRACKNELL:  In the carriage, Gwendolen!  [Gwendolen
goes to the door.  She and Jack blow kisses to each other behind Lady LADY BRACKNELL:  That is satisfactory.  What between the duties
Bracknell’s back.  Lady Bracknell looks vaguely about as if she could expected of one during one’s lifetime, and the duties exacted from one
not understand what the noise was.  Finally turns round.]  Gwendolen, after one’s death, land has ceased to be either a profit or a pleasure.  It
the carriage! gives one position, and prevents one from keeping it up.  That’s all that
can be said about land.
GWENDOLEN:  Yes, mamma.  [Goes out, looking back at Jack.]
JACK:  I have a country house with some land, of course, attached to it,
LADY BRACKNELL:  [Sitting down.]  You can take a seat, Mr. about fifteen hundred acres, I believe; but I don’t depend on that for my
Worthing. real income.  In fact, as far as I can make out, the poachers are the only
people who make anything out of it.
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LADY BRACKNELL:  A country house!  How many bedrooms?  Well, Worthing, because he happened to have a first-class ticket for Worthing
that point can be cleared up afterwards.  You have a town house, I hope?  in his pocket at the time.  Worthing is a place in Sussex.  It is a seaside
A girl with a simple, unspoiled nature, like Gwendolen, could hardly be resort.
expected to reside in the country.
LADY BRACKNELL:  Where did the charitable gentleman who had a
JACK:  Well, I own a house in Belgrave Square, but it is let by the year first-class ticket for this seaside resort find you?
to Lady Bloxham.  Of course, I can get it back whenever I like, at six
months’ notice. JACK:  [Gravely.]  In a hand-bag.

LADY BRACKNELL:  Lady Bloxham?  I don’t know her. LADY BRACKNELL:  A hand-bag?

JACK:  Oh, she goes about very little.  She is a lady considerably JACK:  [Very seriously.]  Yes, Lady Bracknell.  I was in a hand-bag—a
advanced in years. somewhat large, black leather hand-bag, with handles to it—an ordinary
hand-bag in fact.
LADY BRACKNELL:  Ah, nowadays that is no guarantee of
respectability of character.  What number in Belgrave Square? LADY BRACKNELL:  In what locality did this Mr. James, or Thomas,
Cardew come across this ordinary hand-bag?
JACK:  149.
JACK:  In the cloak-room at Victoria Station.  It was given to him in
LADY BRACKNELL:  [Shaking her head.]  The unfashionable side.  I mistake for his own.
thought there was something.  However, that could easily be altered.
LADY BRACKNELL:  The cloak-room at Victoria Station?
JACK:  Do you mean the fashion, or the side?
JACK:  Yes.  The Brighton line.
LADY BRACKNELL:  [Sternly.]  Both, if necessary, I presume.  What are
your polities? LADY BRACKNELL:  The line is immaterial.  Mr. Worthing, I confess I
feel somewhat bewildered by what you have just told me.  To be born,
JACK:  Well, I am afraid I really have none.  I am a Liberal Unionist. 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
LADY BRACKNELL:  Oh, they count as Tories.  They dine with us.  that reminds one of the worst excesses of the French Revolution.  And
Or come in the evening, at any rate.  Now to minor matters.  Are your I presume you know what that unfortunate movement led to?  As for
parents living? the particular locality in which the hand-bag was found, a cloak-room
at a railway station might serve to conceal a social indiscretion—has
JACK:  I have lost both my parents. probably, indeed, been used for that purpose before now—but it could
hardly be regarded as an assured basis for a recognised position in good
LADY BRACKNELL:  To lose one parent, Mr. Worthing, may be society.
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 JACK:  May I ask you then what you would advise me to do?  I need
what the Radical papers call the purple of commerce, or did he rise from hardly say I would do anything in the world to ensure Gwendolen’s
the ranks of the aristocracy? happiness.
JACK:  I am afraid I really don’t know.  The fact is, Lady Bracknell, I LADY BRACKNELL:  I would strongly advise you, Mr. Worthing, to try
said I had lost my parents.  It would be nearer the truth to say that my and acquire some relations as soon as possible, and to make a definite
parents seem to have lost me . . . I don’t actually know who I am by birth.  effort to produce at any rate one parent, of either sex, before the season is
I was . . . well, I was found. quite over.
LADY BRACKNELL:  Found! JACK:  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
JACK:  The late Mr. Thomas Cardew, an old gentleman of a very home.  I really think that should satisfy you, Lady Bracknell.
charitable and kindly disposition, found me, and gave me the name of
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LADY BRACKNELL:  Me, sir!  What has it to do with me?  You can JACK:  I am sick to death of cleverness.  Everybody is clever nowadays. 
hardly imagine that I and Lord Bracknell would dream of allowing our You can’t go anywhere without meeting clever people.  The thing has
only daughter—a girl brought up with the utmost care—to marry into become an absolute public nuisance.  I wish to goodness we had a few
a cloak-room, and form an alliance with a parcel?  Good morning, Mr. fools left.
Worthing!
ALGERNON:  We have.
[Lady Bracknell sweeps out in majestic indignation.]
JACK:  I should extremely like to meet them.  What do they talk about?
JACK:  Good morning!  [Algernon, from the other room, strikes up the
Wedding March.  Jack looks perfectly furious, and goes to the door.]  For ALGERNON:  The fools?  Oh! about the clever people, of course.
goodness’ sake don’t play that ghastly tune, Algy.  How idiotic you are!
JACK:  What fools!
[The music stops and Algernon enters cheerily.]
ALGERNON:  By the way, did you tell Gwendolen the truth about your
ALGERNON:  Didn’t it go off all right, old boy?  You don’t mean to being Ernest in town, and Jack in the country?
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. JACK:  [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
JACK:  Oh, Gwendolen is as right as a trivet.  As far as she is concerned, extraordinary ideas you have about the way to behave to a woman!
we are engaged.  Her mother is perfectly unbearable.  Never met such a
Gorgon . . . I don’t really know what a Gorgon is like, but I am quite sure ALGERNON:  The only way to behave to a woman is to make love to
that Lady Bracknell is one.  In any case, she is a monster, without being her, if she is pretty, and to some one else, if she is plain.
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. JACK:  Oh, that is nonsense.

ALGERNON:  My dear boy, I love hearing my relations abused.  It is the ALGERNON:  What about your brother?  What about the profligate
only thing that makes me put up with them at all.  Relations are simply a Ernest?
tedious pack of people, who haven’t got the remotest knowledge of how
to live, nor the smallest instinct about when to die. JACK:  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
JACK:  Oh, that is nonsense! suddenly, don’t they?

ALGERNON:  It isn’t! ALGERNON:  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.
JACK:  Well, I won’t argue about the matter.  You always want to argue
about things. JACK:  You are sure a severe chill isn’t hereditary, or anything of that
kind?
ALGERNON:  That is exactly what things were originally made for.
ALGERNON:  Of course it isn’t!
JACK:  Upon my word, if I thought that, I’d shoot myself . . . [A pause.] 
You don’t think there is any chance of Gwendolen becoming like her JACK:  Very well, then.  My poor brother Ernest to carried off suddenly,
mother in about a hundred and fifty years, do you, Algy? in Paris, by a severe chill.  That gets rid of him.

ALGERNON:  All women become like their mothers.  That is their ALGERNON:  But I thought you said that . . . Miss Cardew was a little
tragedy.  No man does.  That’s his. too much interested in your poor brother Ernest?  Won’t she feel his loss
a good deal?
JACK:  Is that clever?
JACK:  Oh, that is all right.  Cecily is not a silly romantic girl, I am glad
ALGERNON:  It is perfectly phrased! and quite as true as any to say.  She has got a capital appetite, goes long walks, and pays no
observation in civilised life should be. attention at all to her lessons.
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ALGERNON:  I would rather like to see Cecily. GWENDOLEN:  Algy, kindly turn your back.  I have something very
particular to say to Mr. Worthing.
JACK:  I will take very good care you never do.  She is excessively pretty,
and she is only just eighteen. ALGERNON:  Really, Gwendolen, I don’t think I can allow this at all.

ALGERNON:  Have you told Gwendolen yet that you have an GWENDOLEN:  Algy, you always adopt a strictly immoral attitude
excessively pretty ward who is only just eighteen? towards life.  You are not quite old enough to do that.  [Algernon retires
to the fireplace.]
JACK:  Oh! one doesn’t blurt these things out to people.  Cecily and
Gwendolen are perfectly certain to be extremely great friends.  I’ll bet JACK:  My own darling!
you anything you like that half an hour after they have met, they will be
calling each other sister. GWENDOLEN:  Ernest, we may never be married.  From the expression
on mamma’s face I fear we never shall.  Few parents nowadays pay any
ALGERNON:  Women only do that when they have called each other regard to what their children say to them.  The old-fashioned respect
a lot of other things first.  Now, my dear boy, if we want to get a good for the young is fast dying out.  Whatever influence I ever had over
table at Willis’s, we really must go and dress.  Do you know it is nearly mamma, I lost at the age of three.  But although she may prevent us from
seven? 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
JACK:  [Irritably.]  Oh!  It always is nearly seven. you.

ALGERNON:  Well, I’m hungry. JACK:  Dear Gwendolen!

JACK:  I never knew you when you weren’t . . . GWENDOLEN:  The story of your romantic origin, as related to me by
mamma, with unpleasing comments, has naturally stirred the deeper
ALGERNON:  What shall we do after dinner?  Go to a theatre? fibres of my nature.  Your Christian name has an irresistible fascination. 
The simplicity of your character makes you exquisitely incomprehensible
JACK:  Oh no!  I loathe listening. to me.  Your town address at the Albany I have.  What is your address in
the country?
ALGERNON:  Well, let us go to the Club?
JACK:  The Manor House, Woolton, Hertfordshire.
JACK:  Oh, no!  I hate talking.
[Algernon, who has been carefully listening, smiles to himself, and
ALGERNON:  Well, we might trot round to the Empire at ten? writes the address on his shirt-cuff.  Then picks up the Railway Guide.]
JACK:  Oh, no!  I can’t bear looking at things.  It is so silly. GWENDOLEN:  There is a good postal service, I suppose?  It may be
necessary to do something desperate.  That of course will require serious
ALGERNON:  Well, what shall we do? consideration.  I will communicate with you daily.
JACK:  Nothing! JACK:  My own one!
ALGERNON:  It is awfully hard work doing nothing.  However, I don’t GWENDOLEN:  How long do you remain in town?
mind hard work where there is no definite object of any kind.
JACK:  Till Monday.
[Enter Lane.]
GWENDOLEN:  Good!  Algy, you may turn round now.
LANE:  Miss Fairfax.
ALGERNON:  Thanks, I’ve turned round already.
[Enter Gwendolen.  Lane goes out.]
GWENDOLEN:  You may also ring the bell.
ALGERNON:  Gwendolen, upon my word!

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JACK:  You will let me see you to your carriage, my own darling? [Jack looks indignantly at him, and leaves the room.  Algernon lights a
cigarette, reads his shirt-cuff, and smiles.] ACT DROP
GWENDOLEN:  Certainly.

JACK:  [To Lane, who now enters.]  I will see Miss Fairfax out.

LANE:  Yes, sir.  [Jack and Gwendolen go off.]

[Lane presents several letters on a salver to Algernon.  It is to be

surmised that they are bills, as Algernon, after looking at the envelopes,
tears them up.]

ALGERNON:  A glass of sherry, Lane.

LANE:  Yes, sir.

ALGERNON:  To-morrow, Lane, I’m going Bunburying.

LANE:  Yes, sir.

ALGERNON:  I shall probably not be back till Monday.  You can put up
my dress clothes, my smoking jacket, and all the Bunbury suits . . .

LANE:  Yes, sir.  [Handing sherry.]

ALGERNON:  I hope to-morrow will be a fine day, Lane.

LANE:  It never is, sir.

ALGERNON:  Lane, you’re a perfect pessimist.

LANE:  I do my best to give satisfaction, sir.

[Enter Jack.  Lane goes off.]

JACK:  There’s a sensible, intellectual girl! the only girl I ever cared for in
my life.  [Algernon is laughing immoderately.]  What on earth are you so
amused at?

ALGERNON:  Oh, I’m a little anxious about poor Bunbury, that is all.

JACK:  If you don’t take care, your friend Bunbury will get you into a
serious scrape some day.

ALGERNON:  I love scrapes.  They are the only things that are never
serious.

JACK:  Oh, that’s nonsense, Algy.  You never talk anything but nonsense.

ALGERNON:  Nobody ever does.

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ACT II 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
SCENE: Garden at the Manor House.  A flight of grey stone steps leads a man sows so let him reap.  You must put away your diary, Cecily.  I
up to the house.  The garden, an old-fashioned one, full of roses.  Time of really don’t see why you should keep a diary at all.
year, July.  Basket chairs, and a table covered with books, are set under a
large yew-tree. CECILY:  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.
[Miss Prism discovered seated at the table.  Cecily is at the back
watering flowers.] MISS PRISM:  Memory, my dear Cecily, is the diary that we all carry
about with us.
MISS PRISM:  [Calling.]  Cecily, Cecily!  Surely such a utilitarian
occupation as the watering of flowers is rather Moulton’s duty than CECILY:  Yes, but it usually chronicles the things that have never
yours?  Especially at a moment when intellectual pleasures await you.  happened, and couldn’t possibly have happened.  I believe that Memory
Your German grammar is on the table.  Pray open it at page fifteen.  We is responsible for nearly all the three-volume novels that Mudie sends us.
will repeat yesterday’s lesson.
MISS PRISM:  Do not speak slightingly of the three-volume novel,
CECILY:  [Coming over very slowly.]  But I don’t like German.  It isn’t Cecily.  I wrote one myself in earlier days.
at all a becoming language.  I know perfectly well that I look quite plain
after my German lesson. CECILY:  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
MISS PRISM:  Child, you know how anxious your guardian is that you depress me so much.
should improve yourself in every way.  He laid particular stress on your
German, as he was leaving for town yesterday.  Indeed, he always lays MISS PRISM:  The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily.  That is
stress on your German when he is leaving for town. what Fiction means.

CECILY:  Dear Uncle Jack is so very serious!  Sometimes he is so serious CECILY:  I suppose so.  But it seems very unfair.  And was your novel
that I think he cannot be quite well. ever published?

MISS PRISM:  [Drawing herself up.]  Your guardian enjoys the best of MISS PRISM:  Alas! no.  The manuscript unfortunately was abandoned. 
health, and his gravity of demeanour is especially to be commended in [Cecily starts.]  I use the word in the sense of lost or mislaid.  To your
one so comparatively young as he is.  I know no one who has a higher work, child, these speculations are profitless.
sense of duty and responsibility.
CECILY:  [Smiling.]  But I see dear Dr. Chasuble coming up through the
CECILY:  I suppose that is why he often looks a little bored when we garden.
three are together.
MISS PRISM:  [Rising and advancing.]  Dr. Chasuble!  This is indeed a
MISS PRISM:  Cecily!  I am surprised at you.  Mr. Worthing has many pleasure.
troubles in his life.  Idle merriment and triviality would be out of place
in his conversation.  You must remember his constant anxiety about that [Enter Canon Chasuble.]
unfortunate young man his brother.
CHASUBLE:  And how are we this morning?  Miss Prism, you are, I
CECILY:  I wish Uncle Jack would allow that unfortunate young man, trust, well?
his brother, to come down here sometimes.  We might have a good
influence over him, Miss Prism.  I am sure you certainly would.  You CECILY:  Miss Prism has just been complaining of a slight headache.  I
know German, and geology, and things of that kind influence a man think it would do her so much good to have a short stroll with you in the
very much.  [Cecily begins to write in her diary.] Park, Dr. Chasuble.

MISS PRISM:  [Shaking her head.]  I do not think that even I could MISS PRISM:  Cecily, I have not mentioned anything about a headache.
produce any effect on a character that according to his own brother’s
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CECILY:  No, dear Miss Prism, I know that, but I felt instinctively that MERRIMAN: Yes, Miss.  He seemed very much disappointed.  I
you had a headache.  Indeed I was thinking about that, and not about my mentioned that you and Miss Prism were in the garden.  He said he was
German lesson, when the Rector came in. anxious to speak to you privately for a moment.

CHASUBLE:  I hope, Cecily, you are not inattentive. CECILY:  Ask Mr. Ernest Worthing to come here.  I suppose you had
better talk to the housekeeper about a room for him.
CECILY:  Oh, I am afraid I am.
MERRIMAN:  Yes, Miss.
CHASUBLE:  That is strange.  Were I fortunate enough to be Miss
Prism’s pupil, I would hang upon her lips.  [Miss Prism glares.]  I spoke [Merriman goes off.]
metaphorically.—My metaphor was drawn from bees.  Ahem!  Mr.
Worthing, I suppose, has not returned from town yet? CECILY:  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.
MISS PRISM:  We do not expect him till Monday afternoon.
[Enter Algernon, very gay and debonnair.]  He does!
CHASUBLE:  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, ALGERNON:  [Raising his hat.]  You are my little cousin Cecily, I’m
that unfortunate young man his brother seems to be.  But I must not sure.
disturb Egeria and her pupil any longer.
CECILY:  You are under some strange mistake.  I am not little.  In fact,
MISS PRISM:  Egeria?  My name is Lætitia, Doctor. I believe I am more than usually tall for my age.  [Algernon is rather
taken aback.]  But I am your cousin Cecily.  You, I see from your card, are
CHASUBLE:  [Bowing.]  A classical allusion merely, drawn from the Uncle Jack’s brother, my cousin Ernest, my wicked cousin Ernest.
Pagan authors.  I shall see you both no doubt at Evensong?
ALGERNON:  Oh! I am not really wicked at all, cousin Cecily.  You
MISS PRISM:  I think, dear Doctor, I will have a stroll with you.  I find I mustn’t think that I am wicked.
have a headache after all, and a walk might do it good.
CECILY:  If you are not, then you have certainly been deceiving us all in
CHASUBLE:  With pleasure, Miss Prism, with pleasure.  We might go as a very inexcusable manner.  I hope you have not been leading a double
far as the schools and back. life, pretending to be wicked and being really good all the time.  That
would be hypocrisy.
MISS PRISM:  That would be delightful.  Cecily, you will read your
Political Economy in my absence.  The chapter on the Fall of the Rupee ALGERNON:  [Looks at her in amazement.]  Oh!  Of course I have been
you may omit.  It is somewhat too sensational.  Even these metallic rather reckless.
problems have their melodramatic side.
CECILY:  I am glad to hear it.
[Goes down the garden with Dr. Chasuble.]
ALGERNON:  In fact, now you mention the subject, I have been very
CECILY:  [Picks up books and throws them back on table.]  Horrid bad in my own small way.
Political Economy!  Horrid Geography!  Horrid, horrid German!
CECILY:  I don’t think you should be so proud of that, though I am sure
[Enter Merriman with a card on a salver.] it must have been very pleasant.

MERRIMAN:  Mr. Ernest Worthing has just driven over from the ALGERNON:  It is much pleasanter being here with you.
station.  He has brought his luggage with him.
CECILY:  I can’t understand how you are here at all.  Uncle Jack won’t be
CECILY:  [Takes the card and reads it.]  ‘Mr. Ernest Worthing, B. 4, The back till Monday afternoon.
Albany, W.’  Uncle Jack’s brother!  Did you tell him Mr. Worthing was in
town? ALGERNON:  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
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am anxious . . . to miss? ALGERNON:  Thank you.  Might I have a buttonhole first?  I never have
any appetite unless I have a buttonhole first.
CECILY:  Couldn’t you miss it anywhere but in London?
CECILY:  A Marechal Niel?  [Picks up scissors.]
ALGERNON:  No: the appointment is in London.
ALGERNON:  No, I’d sooner have a pink rose.
CECILY:  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 CECILY:  Why?  [Cuts a flower.]
life, but still I think you had better wait till Uncle Jack arrives.  I know he
wants to speak to you about your emigrating. ALGERNON:  Because you are like a pink rose, Cousin Cecily.

ALGERNON:  About my what? CECILY:  I don’t think it can be right for you to talk to me like that.  Miss
Prism never says such things to me.
CECILY:  Your emigrating.  He has gone up to buy your outfit.
ALGERNON:  Then Miss Prism is a short-sighted old lady.  [Cecily puts
ALGERNON:  I certainly wouldn’t let Jack buy my outfit.  He has no the rose in his buttonhole.]  You are the prettiest girl I ever saw.
taste in neckties at all.
CECILY:  Miss Prism says that all good looks are a snare.
CECILY:  I don’t think you will require neckties.  Uncle Jack is sending
you to Australia. ALGERNON:  They are a snare that every sensible man would like to be
caught in.
ALGERNON:  Australia!  I’d sooner die.
CECILY:  Oh, I don’t think I would care to catch a sensible man.  I
CECILY:  Well, he said at dinner on Wednesday night, that you would shouldn’t know what to talk to him about.
have to choose between this world, the next world, and Australia.
[They pass into the house.  Miss Prism and Dr. Chasuble return.]
ALGERNON:  Oh, well!  The accounts I have received of Australia and
the next world, are not particularly encouraging.  This world is good MISS PRISM:  You are too much alone, dear Dr. Chasuble.  You should
enough for me, cousin Cecily. get married.  A misanthrope I can understand—a womanthrope, never!

CECILY:  Yes, but are you good enough for it? CHASUBLE:  [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
ALGERNON:  I’m afraid I’m not that.  That is why I want you to reform Church was distinctly against matrimony.
me.  You might make that your mission, if you don’t mind, cousin Cecily.
MISS PRISM:  [Sententiously.]  That is obviously the reason why the
CECILY:  I’m afraid I’ve no time, this afternoon. 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
ALGERNON:  Well, would you mind my reforming myself this converts himself into a permanent public temptation.  Men should be
afternoon? more careful; this very celibacy leads weaker vessels astray.

CECILY:  It is rather Quixotic of you.  But I think you should try. CHASUBLE:  But is a man not equally attractive when married?

ALGERNON:  I will.  I feel better already. MISS PRISM:  No married man is ever attractive except to his wife.

CECILY:  You are looking a little worse. CHASUBLE:  And often, I’ve been told, not even to her.

ALGERNON:  That is because I am hungry. MISS PRISM:  That depends on the intellectual sympathies of the
woman.  Maturity can always be depended on.  Ripeness can be trusted. 
CECILY:  How thoughtless of me.  I should have remembered that Young women are green.  [Dr. Chasuble starts.]  I spoke horticulturally. 
when one is going to lead an entirely new life, one requires regular and My metaphor was drawn from fruits.  But where is Cecily?
wholesome meals.  Won’t you come in?
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CHASUBLE:  Perhaps she followed us to the schools. Will the interment take place here?

[Enter Jack slowly from the back of the garden.  He is dressed in the JACK:  No.  He seems to have expressed a desire to be buried in Paris.
deepest mourning, with crape hatband and black gloves.]
CHASUBLE:  In Paris!  [Shakes his head.]  I fear that hardly points to any
MISS PRISM:  Mr. Worthing! 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. 
CHASUBLE:  Mr. Worthing? [Jack presses his hand convulsively.]  My sermon on the meaning of the
manna in the wilderness can be adapted to almost any occasion, joyful,
MISS PRISM:  This is indeed a surprise.  We did not look for you till or, as in the present case, distressing.  [All sigh.]  I have preached it at
Monday afternoon. harvest celebrations, christenings, confirmations, on days of humiliation
and festal days.  The last time I delivered it was in the Cathedral, as a
JACK:  [Shakes Miss Prism’s hand in a tragic manner.]  I have returned charity sermon on behalf of the Society for the Prevention of Discontent
sooner than I expected.  Dr. Chasuble, I hope you are well? among the Upper Orders.  The Bishop, who was present, was much
struck by some of the analogies I drew.
CHASUBLE:  Dear Mr. Worthing, I trust this garb of woe does not
betoken some terrible calamity? JACK:  Ah! that reminds me, you mentioned christenings I think, Dr.
Chasuble?  I suppose you know how to christen all right?  [Dr. Chasuble
JACK:  My brother. looks astounded.]  I mean, of course, you are continually christening,
aren’t you?
MISS PRISM:  More shameful debts and extravagance?
MISS PRISM:  It is, I regret to say, one of the Rector’s most constant
CHASUBLE:  Still leading his life of pleasure? 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.
JACK:  [Shaking his head.]  Dead!
CHASUBLE:  But is there any particular infant in whom you are
CHASUBLE:  Your brother Ernest dead?
interested, Mr. Worthing?  Your brother was, I believe, unmarried, was
JACK:  Quite dead. he not?

MISS PRISM:  What a lesson for him!  I trust he will profit by it. JACK:  Oh yes.

CHASUBLE:  Mr. Worthing, I offer you my sincere condolence.  You MISS PRISM:  [Bitterly.]  People who live entirely for pleasure usually
have at least the consolation of knowing that you were always the most are.
generous and forgiving of brothers.
JACK:  But it is not for any child, dear Doctor.  I am very fond of
JACK:  Poor Ernest!  He had many faults, but it is a sad, sad blow. children.  No! the fact is, I would like to be christened myself, this
afternoon, if you have nothing better to do.
CHASUBLE:  Very sad indeed.  Were you with him at the end?
CHASUBLE:  But surely, Mr. Worthing, you have been christened
JACK:  No.  He died abroad; in Paris, in fact.  I had a telegram last night already?
from the manager of the Grand Hotel.
JACK:  I don’t remember anything about it.
CHASUBLE:  Was the cause of death mentioned?
CHASUBLE:  But have you any grave doubts on the subject?
JACK:  A severe chill, it seems.
JACK:  I certainly intend to have.  Of course I don’t know if the thing
MISS PRISM:  As a man sows, so shall he reap. would bother you in any way, or if you think I am a little too old now.

CHASUBLE:  [Raising his hand.]  Charity, dear Miss Prism, charity!  CHASUBLE:  Not at all.  The sprinkling, and, indeed, the immersion of
None of us are perfect.  I myself am peculiarly susceptible to draughts.  adults is a perfectly canonical practice.
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JACK:  Immersion! MISS PRISM:  After we had all been resigned to his loss, his sudden
return seems to me peculiarly distressing.
CHASUBLE:  You need have no apprehensions.  Sprinkling is all that is
necessary, or indeed I think advisable.  Our weather is so changeable.  At JACK:  My brother is in the dining-room?  I don’t know what it all
what hour would you wish the ceremony performed? means.  I think it is perfectly absurd.

JACK:  Oh, I might trot round about five if that would suit you. [Enter Algernon and Cecily hand in hand.  They come slowly up to
Jack.]
CHASUBLE:  Perfectly, perfectly!  In fact I have two similar ceremonies
to perform at that time.  A case of twins that occurred recently in one of JACK:  Good heavens!  [Motions Algernon away.]
the outlying cottages on your own estate.  Poor Jenkins the carter, a most
hard-working man. ALGERNON:  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
JACK:  Oh!  I don’t see much fun in being christened along with other to lead a better life in the future.  [Jack glares at him and does not take
babies.  It would be childish.  Would half-past five do? his hand.]

CHASUBLE:  Admirably!  Admirably!  [Takes out watch.]  And now, CECILY:  Uncle Jack, you are not going to refuse your own brother’s
dear Mr. Worthing, I will not intrude any longer into a house of sorrow.  hand?
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. JACK:  Nothing will induce me to take his hand.  I think his coming
down here disgraceful.  He knows perfectly well why.
MISS PRISM:  This seems to me a blessing of an extremely obvious
kind. CECILY:  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
[Enter Cecily from the house.] 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
CECILY:  Uncle Jack!  Oh, I am pleased to see you back.  But what horrid by a bed of pain.
clothes you have got on!  Do go and change them.
JACK:  Oh! he has been talking about Bunbury, has he?
MISS PRISM:  Cecily!
CECILY:  Yes, he has told me all about poor Mr. Bunbury, and his
CHASUBLE:  My child! my child!  [Cecily goes towards Jack; he kisses terrible state of health.
her brow in a melancholy manner.]
JACK:  Bunbury!  Well, I won’t have him talk to you about Bunbury or
CECILY:  What is the matter, Uncle Jack?  Do look happy!  You look as if about anything else.  It is enough to drive one perfectly frantic.
you had toothache, and I have got such a surprise for you.  Who do you
think is in the dining-room?  Your brother! ALGERNON:  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
JACK:  Who? painful.  I expected a more enthusiastic welcome, especially considering
it is the first time I have come here.
CECILY:  Your brother Ernest.  He arrived about half an hour ago.
CECILY:  Uncle Jack, if you don’t shake hands with Ernest I will never
JACK:  What nonsense!  I haven’t got a brother. forgive you.
CECILY:  Oh, don’t say that.  However badly he may have behaved to JACK:  Never forgive me?
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 CECILY:  Never, never, never!
him, won’t you, Uncle Jack?  [Runs back into the house.]
JACK:  Well, this is the last time I shall ever do it.  [Shakes with
CHASUBLE:  These are very joyful tidings. Algernon and glares.]
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CHASUBLE:  It’s pleasant, is it not, to see so perfect a reconciliation?  I ALGERNON:  Well, Cecily is a darling.
think we might leave the two brothers together.
JACK:  You are not to talk of Miss Cardew like that.  I don’t like it.
MISS PRISM:  Cecily, you will come with us.
ALGERNON:  Well, I don’t like your clothes.  You look perfectly
CECILY:  Certainly, Miss Prism.  My little task of reconciliation is over. 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
CHASUBLE:  You have done a beautiful action to-day, dear child. staying for a whole week with you in your house as a guest.  I call it
grotesque.
MISS PRISM:  We must not be premature in our judgments.
JACK:  You are certainly not staying with me for a whole week as a guest
CECILY:  I feel very happy.  [They all go off except Jack and Algernon.] or anything else.  You have got to leave . . . by the four-five train.
JACK:  You young scoundrel, Algy, you must get out of this place as ALGERNON:  I certainly won’t leave you so long as you are in
soon as possible.  I don’t allow any Bunburying here. 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
[Enter Merriman.] didn’t.
MERRIMAN:  I have put Mr. Ernest’s things in the room next to yours, JACK:  Well, will you go if I change my clothes?
sir.  I suppose that is all right?
ALGERNON:  Yes, if you are not too long.  I never saw anybody take so
JACK:  What? long to dress, and with such little result.
MERRIMAN:  Mr. Ernest’s luggage, sir.  I have unpacked it and put it in JACK:  Well, at any rate, that is better than being always over-dressed as
the room next to your own. you are.
JACK:  His luggage? ALGERNON:  If I am occasionally a little over-dressed, I make up for it
by being always immensely over-educated.
MERRIMAN:  Yes, sir.  Three portmanteaus, a dressing-case, two hat-
boxes, and a large luncheon-basket. JACK:  Your vanity is ridiculous, your conduct an outrage, and your
presence in my garden utterly absurd.  However, you have got to catch
ALGERNON:  I am afraid I can’t stay more than a week this time. 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.
JACK:  Merriman, order the dog-cart at once.  Mr. Ernest has been
suddenly called back to town. [Goes into the house.]
MERRIMAN:  Yes, sir.  [Goes back into the house.] ALGERNON:  I think it has been a great success.  I’m in love with
Cecily, and that is everything.
ALGERNON:  What a fearful liar you are, Jack.  I have not been called
back to town at all. [Enter Cecily at the back of the garden.  She picks up the can and
begins to water the flowers.]  But I must see her before I go, and make
JACK:  Yes, you have. arrangements for another Bunbury.  Ah, there she is.
ALGERNON:  I haven’t heard any one call me. CECILY:  Oh, I merely came back to water the roses.  I thought you were
with Uncle Jack.
JACK:  Your duty as a gentleman calls you back.
ALGERNON:  He’s gone to order the dog-cart for me.
ALGERNON:  My duty as a gentleman has never interfered with my
pleasures in the smallest degree. CECILY:  Oh, is he going to take you for a nice drive?
JACK:  I can quite understand that.
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ALGERNON:  He’s going to send me away. CECILY:  I don’t think that you should tell me that you love me wildly,
passionately, devotedly, hopelessly.  Hopelessly doesn’t seem to make
CECILY:  Then have we got to part? much sense, does it?

ALGERNON:  I am afraid so.  It’s a very painful parting. ALGERNON:  Cecily!

CECILY:  It is always painful to part from people whom one has known [Enter Merriman.]
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 MERRIMAN:  The dog-cart is waiting, sir.
whom one has just been introduced is almost unbearable.
ALGERNON:  Tell it to come round next week, at the same hour.
ALGERNON:  Thank you.
MERRIMAN:  [Looks at Cecily, who makes no sign.]  Yes, sir.
[Enter Merriman.]
[Merriman retires.]
MERRIMAN:  The dog-cart is at the door, sir.  [Algernon looks
appealingly at Cecily.] CECILY:  Uncle Jack would be very much annoyed if he knew you were
staying on till next week, at the same hour.
CECILY:  It can wait, Merriman for . . . five minutes.
ALGERNON:  Oh, I don’t care about Jack.  I don’t care for anybody in
MERRIMAN:  Yes, Miss.  [Exit Merriman.] the whole world but you.  I love you, Cecily.  You will marry me, won’t
you?
ALGERNON:  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 CECILY:  You silly boy!  Of course.  Why, we have been engaged for the
personification of absolute perfection. last three months.

CECILY:  I think your frankness does you great credit, Ernest.  If you will ALGERNON:  For the last three months?
allow me, I will copy your remarks into my diary.  [Goes over to table
and begins writing in diary.] CECILY:  Yes, it will be exactly three months on Thursday.

ALGERNON:  Do you really keep a diary?  I’d give anything to look at ALGERNON:  But how did we become engaged?
it.  May I?
CECILY:  Well, ever since dear Uncle Jack first confessed to us that he
CECILY:  Oh no.  [Puts her hand over it.]  You see, it is simply a had a younger brother who was very wicked and bad, you of course
very young girl’s record of her own thoughts and impressions, and have formed the chief topic of conversation between myself and Miss
consequently meant for publication.  When it appears in volume form Prism.  And of course a man who is much talked about is always very
I hope you will order a copy.  But pray, Ernest, don’t stop.  I delight in attractive.  One feels there must be something in him, after all.  I daresay
taking down from dictation.  I have reached ‘absolute perfection’.  You it was foolish of me, but I fell in love with you, Ernest.
can go on.  I am quite ready for more.
ALGERNON:  Darling!  And when was the engagement actually settled?
ALGERNON:  [Somewhat taken aback.]  Ahem!  Ahem!
CECILY:  On the 14th of February last.  Worn out by your entire
CECILY:  Oh, don’t cough, Ernest.  When one is dictating one should ignorance of my existence, I determined to end the matter one way or
speak fluently and not cough.  Besides, I don’t know how to spell a the other, and after a long struggle with myself I accepted you under this
cough.  [Writes as Algernon speaks.] 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
ALGERNON:  [Speaking very rapidly.]  Cecily, ever since I first looked always to wear.
upon your wonderful and incomparable beauty, I have dared to love you
wildly, passionately, devotedly, hopelessly. ALGERNON:  Did I give you this?  It’s very pretty, isn’t it?

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CECILY:  Yes, you’ve wonderfully good taste, Ernest.  It’s the excuse CECILY:  You must not laugh at me, darling, but it had always been
I’ve always given for your leading such a bad life.  And this is the box a girlish dream of mine to love some one whose name was Ernest. 
in which I keep all your dear letters.  [Kneels at table, opens box, and [Algernon rises, Cecily also.]  There is something in that name that
produces letters tied up with blue ribbon.] seems to inspire absolute confidence.  I pity any poor married woman
whose husband is not called Ernest.
ALGERNON:  My letters!  But, my own sweet Cecily, I have never
written you any letters. ALGERNON:  But, my dear child, do you mean to say you could not
love me if I had some other name?
CECILY:  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 CECILY:  But what name?
three times a week, and sometimes oftener.
ALGERNON:  Oh, any name you like—Algernon—for instance . . .
ALGERNON:  Oh, do let me read them, Cecily?
CECILY:  But I don’t like the name of Algernon.
CECILY:  Oh, I couldn’t possibly.  They would make you far too
conceited.  [Replaces box.]  The three you wrote me after I had broken off ALGERNON:  Well, my own dear, sweet, loving little darling, I really
the engagement are so beautiful, and so badly spelled, that even now I can’t see why you should object to the name of Algernon.  It is not at all
can hardly read them without crying a little. 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,
ALGERNON:  But was our engagement ever broken off? Cecily . . . [Moving to her] . . . if my name was Algy, couldn’t you love
me?
CECILY:  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 CECILY:  [Rising.]  I might respect you, Ernest, I might admire your
Ernest.  I feel it is better to do so.  The weather still continues charming.’ character, but I fear that I should not be able to give you my undivided
attention.
ALGERNON:  But why on earth did you break it off?  What had I done? 
I had done nothing at all.  Cecily, I am very much hurt indeed to hear ALGERNON:  Ahem!  Cecily!  [Picking up hat.]  Your Rector here is,
you broke it off.  Particularly when the weather was so charming. I suppose, thoroughly experienced in the practice of all the rites and
ceremonials of the Church?
CECILY:  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 CECILY:  Oh, yes.  Dr. Chasuble is a most learned man.  He has never
was out. written a single book, so you can imagine how much he knows.

ALGERNON:  [Crossing to her, and kneeling.]  What a perfect angel you ALGERNON:  I must see him at once on a most important christening—I
are, Cecily. mean on most important business.

CECILY:  You dear romantic boy.  [He kisses her, she puts her fingers CECILY:  Oh!
through his hair.]  I hope your hair curls naturally, does it?
ALGERNON:  I shan’t be away more than half an hour.
ALGERNON:  Yes, darling, with a little help from others.
CECILY:  Considering that we have been engaged since February the
CECILY:  I am so glad. 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. 
ALGERNON:  You’ll never break off our engagement again, Cecily? Couldn’t you make it twenty minutes?

CECILY:  I don’t think I could break it off now that I have actually met ALGERNON:  I’ll be back in no time.
you.  Besides, of course, there is the question of your name.
[Kisses her and rushes down the garden.]
ALGERNON:  Yes, of course.  [Nervously.]
CECILY:  What an impetuous boy he is!  I like his hair so much.  I must
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enter his proposal in my diary. CECILY:  I hope so.  [A pause.  They both sit down together.]

[Enter Merriman.] GWENDOLEN:  Perhaps this might be a favourable opportunity for

my mentioning who I am.  My father is Lord Bracknell.  You have never
MERRIMAN:  A Miss Fairfax has just called to see Mr. Worthing.  On heard of papa, I suppose?
very important business, Miss Fairfax states.
CECILY:  I don’t think so.
CECILY:  Isn’t Mr. Worthing in his library?
GWENDOLEN:  Outside the family circle, papa, I am glad to say, is
MERRIMAN:  Mr. Worthing went over in the direction of the Rectory entirely unknown.  I think that is quite as it should be.  The home seems
some time ago. 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,
CECILY:  Pray ask the lady to come out here; Mr. Worthing is sure to be does he not?  And I don’t like that.  It makes men so very attractive. 
back soon.  And you can bring tea. 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
MERRIMAN:  Yes, Miss.  [Goes out.] do you mind my looking at you through my glasses?
CECILY:  Miss Fairfax!  I suppose one of the many good elderly women CECILY:  Oh! not at all, Gwendolen.  I am very fond of being looked at.
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 GWENDOLEN:  [After examining Cecily carefully through a lorgnette.] 
work.  I think it is so forward of them. You are here on a short visit, I suppose.
[Enter Merriman.] CECILY:  Oh no!  I live here.
MERRIMAN:  Miss Fairfax. GWENDOLEN:  [Severely.]  Really?  Your mother, no doubt, or some
female relative of advanced years, resides here also?
[Enter Gwendolen.]
CECILY:  Oh no!  I have no mother, nor, in fact, any relations.
[Exit Merriman.]
GWENDOLEN:  Indeed?
CECILY:  [Advancing to meet her.]  Pray let me introduce myself to you. 
My name is Cecily Cardew. CECILY:  My dear guardian, with the assistance of Miss Prism, has the
arduous task of looking after me.
GWENDOLEN:  Cecily Cardew?  [Moving to her and shaking hands.] 
What a very sweet name!  Something tells me that we are going to GWENDOLEN:  Your guardian?
be great friends.  I like you already more than I can say.  My first
impressions of people are never wrong. CECILY:  Yes, I am Mr. Worthing’s ward.

CECILY:  How nice of you to like me so much after we have known each GWENDOLEN:  Oh!  It is strange he never mentioned to me that he had
other such a comparatively short time.  Pray sit down. 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
GWENDOLEN:  [Still standing up.]  I may call you Cecily, may I not? 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
CECILY:  With pleasure! know that you are Mr. Worthing’s ward, I cannot help expressing a wish
you were—well, just a little older than you seem to be—and not quite so
GWENDOLEN:  And you will always call me Gwendolen, won’t you? very alluring in appearance.  In fact, if I may speak candidly—
CECILY:  If you wish. CECILY:  Pray do!  I think that whenever one has anything unpleasant to
say, one should always be quite candid.
GWENDOLEN:  Then that is all quite settled, is it not?

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GWENDOLEN:  Well, to speak with perfect candour, Cecily, I wish diary of her own.]  I never travel without my diary.  One should always
that you were fully forty-two, and more than usually plain for your have something sensational to read in the train.  I am so sorry, dear
age.  Ernest has a strong upright nature.  He is the very soul of truth Cecily, if it is any disappointment to you, but I am afraid I have the prior
and honour.  Disloyalty would be as impossible to him as deception.  claim.
But even men of the noblest possible moral character are extremely
susceptible to the influence of the physical charms of others.  Modern, no CECILY:  It would distress me more than I can tell you, dear Gwendolen,
less than Ancient History, supplies us with many most painful examples if it caused you any mental or physical anguish, but I feel bound to point
of what I refer to.  If it were not so, indeed, History would be quite out that since Ernest proposed to you he clearly has changed his mind.
unreadable.
GWENDOLEN:  [Meditatively.]  If the poor fellow has been entrapped
CECILY:  I beg your pardon, Gwendolen, did you say Ernest? into any foolish promise I shall consider it my duty to rescue him at
once, and with a firm hand.
GWENDOLEN:  Yes.
CECILY:  [Thoughtfully and sadly.]  Whatever unfortunate entanglement
CECILY:  Oh, but it is not Mr. Ernest Worthing who is my guardian.  It is my dear boy may have got into, I will never reproach him with it after
his brother—his elder brother. we are married.

GWENDOLEN:  [Sitting down again.]  Ernest never mentioned to me GWENDOLEN:  Do you allude to me, Miss Cardew, as an
that he had a brother. 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
CECILY:  I am sorry to say they have not been on good terms for a long pleasure.
time.
CECILY:  Do you suggest, Miss Fairfax, that I entrapped Ernest into an
GWENDOLEN:  Ah! that accounts for it.  And now that I think of it engagement?  How dare you?  This is no time for wearing the shallow
I have never heard any man mention his brother.  The subject seems mask of manners.  When I see a spade I call it a spade.
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 GWENDOLEN:  [Satirically.]  I am glad to say that I have never seen a
had come across a friendship like ours, would it not?  Of course you are spade.  It is obvious that our social spheres have been widely different.
quite, quite sure that it is not Mr. Ernest Worthing who is your guardian?
[Enter Merriman, followed by the footman.  He carries a salver, table
CECILY:  Quite sure.  [A pause.]  In fact, I am going to be his. cloth, and plate stand.  Cecily is about to retort.  The presence of the
servants exercises a restraining influence, under which both girls chafe.]
GWENDOLEN:  [Inquiringly.]  I beg your pardon?
MERRIMAN:  Shall I lay tea here as usual, Miss?
CECILY:  [Rather shy and confidingly.]  Dearest Gwendolen, there is
no reason why I should make a secret of it to you.  Our little county CECILY:  [Sternly, in a calm voice.]  Yes, as usual.  [Merriman begins to
newspaper is sure to chronicle the fact next week.  Mr. Ernest Worthing clear table and lay cloth.  A long pause.  Cecily and Gwendolen glare at
and I are engaged to be married. each other.]

GWENDOLEN:  [Quite politely, rising.]  My darling Cecily, I think there GWENDOLEN:  Are there many interesting walks in the vicinity, Miss
must be some slight error.  Mr. Ernest Worthing is engaged to me.  The Cardew?
announcement will appear in the Morning Post on Saturday at the latest.
CECILY:  Oh! yes! a great many.  From the top of one of the hills quite
CECILY:  [Very politely, rising.]  I am afraid you must be under some close one can see five counties.
misconception.  Ernest proposed to me exactly ten minutes ago.  [Shows
diary.] GWENDOLEN:  Five counties!  I don’t think I should like that; I hate
crowds.
GWENDOLEN:  [Examines diary through her lorgnettte carefully.]  It is
certainly very curious, for he asked me to be his wife yesterday afternoon CECILY:  [Sweetly.]  I suppose that is why you live in town? 
at 5.30.  If you would care to verify the incident, pray do so.  [Produces [Gwendolen bites her lip, and beats her foot nervously with her parasol.]
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GWENDOLEN:  [Looking round.]  Quite a well-kept garden this is, Miss GWENDOLEN:  From the moment I saw you I distrusted you.  I felt that
Cardew. you were false and deceitful.  I am never deceived in such matters.  My
first impressions of people are invariably right.
CECILY:  So glad you like it, Miss Fairfax.
CECILY:  It seems to me, Miss Fairfax, that I am trespassing on your
GWENDOLEN:  I had no idea there were any flowers in the country. valuable time.  No doubt you have many other calls of a similar character
to make in the neighbourhood.
CECILY:  Oh, flowers are as common here, Miss Fairfax, as people are in
London. [Enter Jack.]

GWENDOLEN:  Personally I cannot understand how anybody manages GWENDOLEN:  [Catching sight of him.]  Ernest!  My own Ernest!
to exist in the country, if anybody who is anybody does.  The country
always bores me to death. JACK:  Gwendolen!  Darling!  [Offers to kiss her.]

CECILY:  Ah!  This is what the newspapers call agricultural depression, GWENDOLEN:  [Draws back.]  A moment!  May I ask if you are
is it not?  I believe the aristocracy are suffering very much from it just at engaged to be married to this young lady?  [Points to Cecily.]
present.  It is almost an epidemic amongst them, I have been told.  May I
offer you some tea, Miss Fairfax? JACK:  [Laughing.]  To dear little Cecily!  Of course not!  What could
have put such an idea into your pretty little head?
GWENDOLEN:  [With elaborate politeness.]  Thank you.  [Aside.] 
Detestable girl!  But I require tea! GWENDOLEN:  Thank you.  You may!  [Offers her cheek.]

CECILY:  [Sweetly.]  Sugar? CECILY:  [Very sweetly.]  I knew there must be some misunderstanding,
Miss Fairfax.  The gentleman whose arm is at present round your waist is
GWENDOLEN:  [Superciliously.]  No, thank you.  Sugar is not my guardian, Mr. John Worthing.
fashionable any more. [Cecily looks angrily at her, takes up the tongs
and puts four lumps of sugar into the cup.] GWENDOLEN:  I beg your pardon?

CECILY:  [Severely.]  Cake or bread and butter? CECILY:  This is Uncle Jack.

GWENDOLEN:  [In a bored manner.]  Bread and butter, please.  Cake is GWENDOLEN:  [Receding.]  Jack!  Oh!
rarely seen at the best houses nowadays.
[Enter Algernon.]
CECILY:  [Cuts a very large slice of cake, and puts it on the tray.]  Hand
that to Miss Fairfax. CECILY:  Here is Ernest.

[Merriman does so, and goes out with footman.  Gwendolen drinks ALGERNON:  [Goes straight over to Cecily without noticing any one
the tea and makes a grimace.  Puts down cup at once, reaches out her else.]  My own love!  [Offers to kiss her.]
hand to the bread and butter, looks at it, and finds it is cake.  Rises in
indignation.] CECILY:  [Drawing back.]  A moment, Ernest!  May I ask you—are you
engaged to be married to this young lady?
GWENDOLEN:  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 ALGERNON:  [Looking round.]  To what young lady?  Good heavens! 
am known for the gentleness of my disposition, and the extraordinary Gwendolen!
sweetness of my nature, but I warn you, Miss Cardew, you may go too
far. CECILY:  Yes! to good heavens, Gwendolen, I mean to Gwendolen.

CECILY:  [Rising.]  To save my poor, innocent, trusting boy from the ALGERNON:  [Laughing.]  Of course not!  What could have put such an
machinations of any other girl there are no lengths to which I would not idea into your pretty little head?
go.
CECILY:  Thank you.  [Presenting her cheek to be kissed.]  You may. 
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[Algernon kisses her.] JACK:  [Cheerily.]  None!

GWENDOLEN:  I felt there was some slight error, Miss Cardew.  The GWENDOLEN:  [Severely.]  Had you never a brother of any kind?
gentleman who is now embracing you is my cousin, Mr. Algernon
Moncrieff. JACK:  [Pleasantly.]  Never.  Not even of an kind.

CECILY:  [Breaking away from Algernon.]  Algernon Moncrieff!  Oh!  GWENDOLEN:  I am afraid it is quite clear, Cecily, that neither of us is
[The two girls move towards each other and put their arms round each engaged to be married to any one.
other’s waists as if for protection.]
CECILY:  It is not a very pleasant position for a young girl suddenly to
CECILY:  Are you called Algernon? find herself in.  Is it?

ALGERNON:  I cannot deny it. GWENDOLEN:  Let us go into the house.  They will hardly venture to
come after us there.
CECILY:  Oh!
CECILY:  No, men are so cowardly, aren’t they?
GWENDOLEN:  Is your name really John?
[They retire into the house with scornful looks.]
JACK:  [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 JACK:  This ghastly state of things is what you call Bunburying, I
years. suppose?

CECILY:  [To Gwendolen.]  A gross deception has been practised on ALGERNON:  Yes, and a perfectly wonderful Bunbury it is.  The most
both of us. wonderful Bunbury I have ever had in my life.

GWENDOLEN:  My poor wounded Cecily! JACK:  Well, you’ve no right whatsoever to Bunbury here.

CECILY:  My sweet wronged Gwendolen! ALGERNON:  That is absurd.  One has a right to Bunbury anywhere one
chooses.  Every serious Bunburyist knows that.
GWENDOLEN:  [Slowly and seriously.]  You will call me sister, will you
not?  [They embrace.  Jack and Algernon groan and walk up and down.] JACK:  Serious Bunburyist!  Good heavens!

CECILY:  [Rather brightly.]  There is just one question I would like to be ALGERNON:  Well, one must be serious about something, if one wants
allowed to ask my guardian. 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. 
GWENDOLEN:  An admirable idea!  Mr. Worthing, there is just one About everything, I should fancy.  You have such an absolutely trivial
question I would like to be permitted to put to you.  Where is your nature.
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 JACK:  Well, the only small satisfaction I have in the whole of this
brother Ernest is at present. 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
JACK:  [Slowly and hesitatingly.]  Gwendolen—Cecily—it is very do, dear Algy.  And a very good thing too.
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 ALGERNON:  Your brother is a little off colour, isn’t he, dear Jack?  You
really quite inexperienced in doing anything of the kind.  However, I will won’t be able to disappear to London quite so frequently as your wicked
tell you quite frankly that I have no brother Ernest.  I have no brother at custom was.  And not a bad thing either.
all.  I never had a brother in my life, and I certainly have not the smallest
intention of ever having one in the future. JACK:  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
CECILY:  [Surprised.]  No brother at all? say nothing of the fact that she is my ward.
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ALGERNON:  I can see no possible defence at all for your deceiving a That is a very different thing.
brilliant, clever, thoroughly experienced young lady like Miss Fairfax. 
To say nothing of the fact that she is my cousin. ALGERNON:  That may be.  But the muffins are the same.  [He seizes
the muffin-dish from Jack.]
JACK:  I wanted to be engaged to Gwendolen, that is all.  I love her.
JACK:  Algy, I wish to goodness you would go.
ALGERNON:  Well, I simply wanted to be engaged to Cecily.  I adore
her. ALGERNON:  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,
JACK:  There is certainly no chance of your marrying Miss Cardew. except vegetarians and people like that.  Besides I have just made
arrangements with Dr. Chasuble to be christened at a quarter to six
ALGERNON:  I don’t think there is much likelihood, Jack, of you and under the name of Ernest.
Miss Fairfax being united.
JACK:  My dear fellow, the sooner you give up that nonsense the better. 
JACK:  Well, that is no business of yours. 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
ALGERNON:  If it was my business, I wouldn’t talk about it.  [Begins to would wish it.  We can’t both be christened Ernest.  It’s absurd.  Besides,
eat muffins.]  It is very vulgar to talk about one’s business.  Only people I have a perfect right to be christened if I like.  There is no evidence at all
like stock-brokers do that, and then merely at dinner parties. 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
JACK:  How can you sit there, calmly eating muffins when we are in your case.  You have been christened already.
this horrible trouble, I can’t make out.  You seem to me to be perfectly
heartless. ALGERNON:  Yes, but I have not been christened for years.
ALGERNON:  Well, I can’t eat muffins in an agitated manner.  The JACK:  Yes, but you have been christened.  That is the important thing.
butter would probably get on my cuffs.  One should always eat muffins
quite calmly.  It is the only way to eat them. ALGERNON:  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
JACK:  I say it’s perfectly heartless your eating muffins at all, under the think it rather dangerous your venturing on it now.  It might make you
circumstances. 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
ALGERNON:  When I am in trouble, eating is the only thing that severe chill.
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 JACK:  Yes, but you said yourself that a severe chill was not hereditary.
and drink.  At the present moment I am eating muffins because I am
unhappy.  Besides, I am particularly fond of muffins.  [Rising.] ALGERNON:  It usen’t to be, I know—but I daresay it is now.  Science is
always making wonderful improvements in things.
JACK:  [Rising.]  Well, that is no reason why you should eat them all in
that greedy way. [Takes muffins from Algernon.] JACK:  [Picking up the muffin-dish.]  Oh, that is nonsense; you are
always talking nonsense.
ALGERNON:  [Offering tea-cake.]  I wish you would have tea-cake
instead.  I don’t like tea-cake. ALGERNON:  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
JACK:  Good heavens!  I suppose a man may eat his own muffins in his of muffins.
own garden.
JACK:  But I hate tea-cake.
ALGERNON:  But you have just said it was perfectly heartless to eat
muffins. ALGERNON:  Why on earth then do you allow tea-cake to be served up
for your guests?  What ideas you have of hospitality!
JACK:  I said it was perfectly heartless of you, under the circumstances. 
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JACK:  Algernon!  I have already told you to go.  I don’t want you here. 
Why don’t you go! ACT III
ALGERNON:  I haven’t quite finished my tea yet! and there is still one SCENE: Morning-room at the Manor House.
muffin left.  [Jack groans, and sinks into a chair.  Algernon still continues
eating. ACT DROP] [Gwendolen and Cecily are at the window, looking out into the garden.]

GWENDOLEN:  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.

CECILY:  They have been eating muffins.  That looks like repentance.

GWENDOLEN:  [After a pause.]  They don’t seem to notice us at all. 

Couldn’t you cough?

CECILY:  But I haven’t got a cough.

GWENDOLEN:  They’re looking at us.  What effrontery!

CECILY:  They’re approaching.  That’s very forward of them.

GWENDOLEN:  Let us preserve a dignified silence.

CECILY:  Certainly.  It’s the only thing to do now.  [Enter Jack followed
by Algernon.  They whistle some dreadful popular air from a British
Opera.]

GWENDOLEN:  This dignified silence seems to produce an unpleasant

effect.

CECILY:  A most distasteful one.

GWENDOLEN:  But we will not be the first to speak.

CECILY:  Certainly not.

GWENDOLEN:  Mr. Worthing, I have something very particular to ask

you.  Much depends on your reply.

CECILY:  Gwendolen, your common sense is invaluable.  Mr. Moncrieff,

kindly answer me the following question.  Why did you pretend to be
my guardian’s brother?

ALGERNON:  In order that I might have an opportunity of meeting you.

CECILY:  [To Gwendolen.]  That certainly seems a satisfactory

explanation, does it not?

GWENDOLEN:  Yes, dear, if you can believe him.

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CECILY:  I don’t.  But that does not affect the wonderful beauty of his questions of self-sacrifice are concerned, men are infinitely beyond us.
answer.
JACK:  We are.  [Clasps hands with Algernon.]
GWENDOLEN:  True.  In matters of grave importance, style, not
sincerity is the vital thing.  Mr. Worthing, what explanation can you offer CECILY:  They have moments of physical courage of which we women
to me for pretending to have a brother?  Was it in order that you might know absolutely nothing.
have an opportunity of coming up to town to see me as often as possible?
GWENDOLEN:  [To Jack.]  Darling!
JACK:  Can you doubt it, Miss Fairfax?
ALGERNON:  [To Cecily.]  Darling!  [They fall into each other’s arms.]
GWENDOLEN:  I have the gravest doubts upon the subject.  But I intend
to crush them.  This is not the moment for German scepticism.  [Moving [Enter Merriman.  When he enters he coughs loudly, seeing the
to Cecily.]  Their explanations appear to be quite satisfactory, especially situation.]
Mr. Worthing’s.  That seems to me to have the stamp of truth upon it.
MERRIMAN:  Ahem!  Ahem!  Lady Bracknell!
CECILY:  I am more than content with what Mr. Moncrieff said.  His
voice alone inspires one with absolute credulity. JACK:  Good heavens!

GWENDOLEN:  Then you think we should forgive them? [Enter Lady Bracknell.  The couples separate in alarm.  Exit Merriman.]

CECILY:  Yes.  I mean no. LADY BRACKNELL:  Gwendolen!  What does this mean?

GWENDOLEN:  True!  I had forgotten.  There are principles at stake that GWENDOLEN:  Merely that I am engaged to be married to Mr.
one cannot surrender.  Which of us should tell them?  The task is not a Worthing, mamma.
pleasant one.
LADY BRACKNELL:  Come here.  Sit down.  Sit down immediately. 
CECILY:  Could we not both speak at the same time? Hesitation of any kind is a sign of mental decay in the young, of physical
weakness in the old.  [Turns to Jack.]  Apprised, sir, of my daughter’s
GWENDOLEN:  An excellent idea!  I nearly always speak at the same sudden flight by her trusty maid, whose confidence I purchased by
time as other people.  Will you take the time from me? 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
CECILY:  Certainly.  [Gwendolen beats time with uplifted finger.] is attending a more than usually lengthy lecture by the University
Extension Scheme on the Influence of a permanent income on Thought.  I
Gwendolen and Cecily [Speaking together.]  Your Christian names are do not propose to undeceive him.  Indeed I have never undeceived him
still an insuperable barrier.  That is all! on any question.  I would consider it wrong.  But of course, you will
clearly understand that all communication between yourself and my
Jack and Algernon [Speaking together.]  Our Christian names!  Is that daughter must cease immediately from this moment.  On this point, as
all?  But we are going to be christened this afternoon. indeed on all points, I am firm.

GWENDOLEN:  [To Jack.]  For my sake you are prepared to do this JACK:  I am engaged to be married to Gwendolen Lady Bracknell!
terrible thing?
LADY BRACKNELL:  You are nothing of the kind, sir.  And now, as
JACK:  I am. regards Algernon! . . . Algernon!

CECILY:  [To Algernon.]  To please me you are ready to face this fearful ALGERNON:  Yes, Aunt Augusta.
ordeal?
LADY BRACKNELL:  May I ask if it is in this house that your invalid
ALGERNON:  I am! friend Mr. Bunbury resides?

GWENDOLEN:  How absurd to talk of the equality of the sexes!  Where ALGERNON:  [Stammering.]  Oh!  No!  Bunbury doesn’t live here. 
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Bunbury is somewhere else at present.  In fact, Bunbury is dead. Dorking, Surrey; and the Sporran, Fifeshire, N.B.

LADY BRACKNELL:  Dead!  When did Mr. Bunbury die?  His death LADY BRACKNELL:  That sounds not unsatisfactory.  Three addresses
must have been extremely sudden. always inspire confidence, even in tradesmen.  But what proof have I of
their authenticity?
ALGERNON:  [Airily.]  Oh!  I killed Bunbury this afternoon.  I mean
poor Bunbury died this afternoon. JACK:  I have carefully preserved the Court Guides of the period.  They
are open to your inspection, Lady Bracknell.
LADY BRACKNELL:  What did he die of?
LADY BRACKNELL:  [Grimly.]  I have known strange errors in that
ALGERNON:  Bunbury?  Oh, he was quite exploded. publication.

LADY BRACKNELL:  Exploded!  Was he the victim of a revolutionary JACK:  Miss Cardew’s family solicitors are Messrs. Markby, Markby,
outrage?  I was not aware that Mr. Bunbury was interested in social and Markby.
legislation.  If so, he is well punished for his morbidity.
LADY BRACKNELL:  Markby, Markby, and Markby?  A firm of the
ALGERNON:  My dear Aunt Augusta, I mean he was found out!  The very highest position in their profession.  Indeed I am told that one of
doctors found out that Bunbury could not live, that is what I mean—so the Mr. Markby’s is occasionally to be seen at dinner parties.  So far I am
Bunbury died. satisfied.

LADY BRACKNELL:  He seems to have had great confidence in the JACK:  [Very irritably.]  How extremely kind of you, Lady Bracknell! 
opinion of his physicians.  I am glad, however, that he made up his I have also in my possession, you will be pleased to hear, certificates
mind at the last to some definite course of action, and acted under of Miss Cardew’s birth, baptism, whooping cough, registration,
proper medical advice.  And now that we have finally got rid of this Mr. vaccination, confirmation, and the measles; both the German and the
Bunbury, may I ask, Mr. Worthing, who is that young person whose English variety.
hand my nephew Algernon is now holding in what seems to me a
peculiarly unnecessary manner? LADY BRACKNELL:  Ah! A life crowded with incident, I see; though
perhaps somewhat too exciting for a young girl.  I am not myself
JACK:  That lady is Miss Cecily Cardew, my ward.  [Lady Bracknell in favour of premature experiences.  [Rises, looks at her watch.] 
bows coldly to Cecily.] 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
ALGERNON:  I am engaged to be married to Cecily, Aunt Augusta. if Miss Cardew has any little fortune?
LADY BRACKNELL:  I beg your pardon? JACK:  Oh! about a hundred and thirty thousand pounds in the Funds. 
That is all.  Goodbye, Lady Bracknell.  So pleased to have seen you.
CECILY:  Mr. Moncrieff and I are engaged to be married, Lady Bracknell.
LADY BRACKNELL:  [Sitting down again.]  A moment, Mr. Worthing. 
LADY BRACKNELL:  [With a shiver, crossing to the sofa and sitting A hundred and thirty thousand pounds!  And in the Funds!  Miss
down.]  I do not know whether there is anything peculiarly exciting Cardew seems to me a most attractive young lady, now that I look at her. 
in the air of this particular part of Hertfordshire, but the number of Few girls of the present day have any really solid qualities, any of the
engagements that go on seems to me considerably above the proper qualities that last, and improve with time.  We live, I regret to say, in an
average that statistics have laid down for our guidance.  I think age of surfaces.  [To Cecily.]  Come over here, dear.  [Cecily goes across.] 
some preliminary inquiry on my part would not be out of place.  Mr. Pretty child! your dress is sadly simple, and your hair seems almost as
Worthing, is Miss Cardew at all connected with any of the larger railway Nature might have left it.  But we can soon alter all that.  A thoroughly
stations in London?  I merely desire information.  Until yesterday I experienced French maid produces a really marvellous result in a very
had no idea that there were any families or persons whose origin was a brief space of time.  I remember recommending one to young Lady
Terminus.  [Jack looks perfectly furious, but restrains himself.] Lancing, and after three months her own husband did not know her.
JACK:  [In a clear, cold voice.]  Miss Cardew is the grand-daughter of JACK:  And after six months nobody knew her.
the late Mr. Thomas Cardew of 149 Belgrave Square, S.W.; Gervase Park,
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LADY BRACKNELL:  [Glares at Jack for a few moments.  Then bends, consent I absolutely decline to give.
with a practised smile, to Cecily.]  Kindly turn round, sweet child. 
[Cecily turns completely round.]  No, the side view is what I want.  LADY BRACKNELL:  Upon what grounds may I ask?  Algernon is an
[Cecily presents her profile.]  Yes, quite as I expected.  There are distinct extremely, I may almost say an ostentatiously, eligible young man.  He
social possibilities in your profile.  The two weak points in our age are its has nothing, but he looks everything.  What more can one desire?
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 JACK:  It pains me very much to have to speak frankly to you, Lady
high, just at present.  Algernon! 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.  [Algernon and
ALGERNON:  Yes, Aunt Augusta! Cecily look at him in indignant amazement.]

LADY BRACKNELL:  There are distinct social possibilities in Miss LADY BRACKNELL:  Untruthful!  My nephew Algernon?  Impossible! 
Cardew’s profile. He is an Oxonian.

ALGERNON:  Cecily is the sweetest, dearest, prettiest girl in the whole JACK:  I fear there can be no possible doubt about the matter.  This
world.  And I don’t care twopence about social possibilities. afternoon during my temporary absence in London on an important
question of romance, he obtained admission to my house by means of
LADY BRACKNELL:  Never speak disrespectfully of Society, Algernon.  the false pretence of being my brother.  Under an assumed name he
Only people who can’t get into it do that.  [To Cecily.]  Dear child, of drank, I’ve just been informed by my butler, an entire pint bottle of
course you know that Algernon has nothing but his debts to depend my Perrier-Jouet, Brut, ’89; wine I was specially reserving for myself. 
upon.  But I do not approve of mercenary marriages.  When I married Continuing his disgraceful deception, he succeeded in the course of the
Lord Bracknell I had no fortune of any kind.  But I never dreamed for a afternoon in alienating the affections of my only ward.  He subsequently
moment of allowing that to stand in my way.  Well, I suppose I must give stayed to tea, and devoured every single muffin.  And what makes his
my consent. 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
ALGERNON:  Thank you, Aunt Augusta. intend to have a brother, not even of any kind.  I distinctly told him so
myself yesterday afternoon.
LADY BRACKNELL:  Cecily, you may kiss me!
LADY BRACKNELL:  Ahem!  Mr. Worthing, after careful consideration
CECILY:  [Kisses her.]  Thank you, Lady Bracknell. I have decided entirely to overlook my nephew’s conduct to you.
LADY BRACKNELL:  You may also address me as Aunt Augusta for the JACK:  That is very generous of you, Lady Bracknell.  My own decision,
future. however, is unalterable.  I decline to give my consent.
CECILY:  Thank you, Aunt Augusta. LADY BRACKNELL:  [To Cecily.]  Come here, sweet child.  [Cecily goes
over.]  How old are you, dear?
LADY BRACKNELL:  The marriage, I think, had better take place quite
soon. CECILY:  Well, I am really only eighteen, but I always admit to twenty
when I go to evening parties.
ALGERNON:  Thank you, Aunt Augusta.
LADY BRACKNELL:  You are perfectly right in making some slight
CECILY:  Thank you, Aunt Augusta. alteration.  Indeed, no woman should ever be quite accurate about her
age.  It looks so calculating . . . [In a meditative manner.]  Eighteen, but
LADY BRACKNELL:  To speak frankly, I am not in favour of long admitting to twenty at evening parties.  Well, it will not be very long
engagements.  They give people the opportunity of finding out each before you are of age and free from the restraints of tutelage.  So I don’t
other’s character before marriage, which I think is never advisable. think your guardian’s consent is, after all, a matter of any importance.
JACK:  I beg your pardon for interrupting you, Lady Bracknell, but this JACK:  Pray excuse me, Lady Bracknell, for interrupting you again, but
engagement is quite out of the question.  I am Miss Cardew’s guardian, it is only fair to tell you that according to the terms of her grandfather’s
and she cannot marry without my consent until she comes of age.  That will Miss Cardew does not come legally of age till she is thirty-five.
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LADY BRACKNELL:  That does not seem to me to be a grave objection.  Algernon.]  Both these gentlemen have expressed a desire for immediate
Thirty-five is a very attractive age.  London society is full of women baptism.
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 LADY BRACKNELL:  At their age?  The idea is grotesque and
own knowledge she has been thirty-five ever since she arrived at the age irreligious!  Algernon, I forbid you to be baptized.  I will not hear of such
of forty, which was many years ago now.  I see no reason why our dear excesses.  Lord Bracknell would be highly displeased if he learned that
Cecily should not be even still more attractive at the age you mention that was the way in which you wasted your time and money.
than she is at present.  There will be a large accumulation of property.
CHASUBLE:  Am I to understand then that there are to be no
CECILY:  Algy, could you wait for me till I was thirty-five? christenings at all this afternoon?

ALGERNON:  Of course I could, Cecily.  You know I could. JACK:  I don’t think that, as things are now, it would be of much
practical value to either of us, Dr. Chasuble.
CECILY:  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.  CHASUBLE:  I am grieved to hear such sentiments from you, Mr.
I am not punctual myself, I know, but I do like punctuality in others, and Worthing.  They savour of the heretical views of the Anabaptists, views
waiting, even to be married, is quite out of the question. that I have completely refuted in four of my unpublished sermons. 
However, as your present mood seems to be one peculiarly secular, I will
ALGERNON:  Then what is to be done, Cecily? 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
CECILY:  I don’t know, Mr. Moncrieff. for me in the vestry.

LADY BRACKNELL:  My dear Mr. Worthing, as Miss Cardew states LADY BRACKNELL:  [Starting.]  Miss Prism!  Did I hear you mention a
positively that she cannot wait till she is thirty-five—a remark which I Miss Prism?
am bound to say seems to me to show a somewhat impatient nature—I
would beg of you to reconsider your decision. CHASUBLE:  Yes, Lady Bracknell.  I am on my way to join her.

JACK:  But my dear Lady Bracknell, the matter is entirely in your own LADY BRACKNELL:  Pray allow me to detain you for a moment. 
hands.  The moment you consent to my marriage with Gwendolen, I will This matter may prove to be one of vital importance to Lord Bracknell
most gladly allow your nephew to form an alliance with my ward. and myself.  Is this Miss Prism a female of repellent aspect, remotely
connected with education?
LADY BRACKNELL:  [Rising and drawing herself up.]  You must be
quite aware that what you propose is out of the question. CHASUBLE:  [Somewhat indignantly.]  She is the most cultivated of
ladies, and the very picture of respectability.
JACK:  Then a passionate celibacy is all that any of us can look forward
to. LADY BRACKNELL:  It is obviously the same person.  May I ask what
position she holds in your household?
LADY BRACKNELL:  That is not the destiny I propose for Gwendolen. 
Algernon, of course, can choose for himself.  [Pulls out her watch.]  CHASUBLE:  [Severely.]  I am a celibate, madam.
Come, dear, [Gwendolen rises] we have already missed five, if not six,
trains.  To miss any more might expose us to comment on the platform. JACK:  [Interposing.]  Miss Prism, Lady Bracknell, has been for the last
three years Miss Cardew’s esteemed governess and valued companion.
[Enter Dr. Chasuble.]
LADY BRACKNELL:  In spite of what I hear of her, I must see her at
CHASUBLE:  Everything is quite ready for the christenings. once.  Let her be sent for.

LADY BRACKNELL:  The christenings, sir!  Is not that somewhat CHASUBLE:  [Looking off.]  She approaches; she is nigh.
premature?
[Enter Miss Prism hurriedly.]
CHASUBLE:  [Looking rather puzzled, and pointing to Jack and
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MISS PRISM:  I was told you expected me in the vestry, dear Canon.  I for me.
have been waiting for you there for an hour and three-quarters.  [Catches
sight of Lady Bracknell, who has fixed her with a stony glare.  Miss GWENDOLEN:  If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my
Prism grows pale and quails.  She looks anxiously round as if desirous to life.  [Exit Jack in great excitement.]
escape.]
CHASUBLE:  What do you think this means, Lady Bracknell?
LADY BRACKNELL:  [In a severe, judicial voice.]  Prism!  [Miss Prism
bows her head in shame.]  Come here, Prism!  [Miss Prism approaches in LADY BRACKNELL:  I dare not even suspect, Dr. Chasuble.  I need
a humble manner.]  Prism!  Where is that baby?  [General consternation.  hardly tell you that in families of high position strange coincidences are
The Canon starts back in horror.  Algernon and Jack pretend to be not supposed to occur.  They are hardly considered the thing.
anxious to shield Cecily and Gwendolen from hearing the details of a
terrible public scandal.]  Twenty-eight years ago, Prism, you left Lord [Noises heard overhead as if some one was throwing trunks about. 
Bracknell’s house, Number 104, Upper Grosvenor Street, in charge Every one looks up.]
of a perambulator that contained a baby of the male sex.  You never
returned.  A few weeks later, through the elaborate investigations of CECILY:  Uncle Jack seems strangely agitated.
the Metropolitan police, the perambulator was discovered at midnight,
CHASUBLE:  Your guardian has a very emotional nature.
standing by itself in a remote corner of Bayswater.  It contained the
manuscript of a three-volume novel of more than usually revolting LADY BRACKNELL:  This noise is extremely unpleasant.  It sounds as if
sentimentality.  [Miss Prism starts in involuntary indignation.]  But the he was having an argument.  I dislike arguments of any kind.  They are
baby was not there!  [Every one looks at Miss Prism.]  Prism!  Where is always vulgar, and often convincing.
that baby?  [A pause.]
CHASUBLE:  [Looking up.]  It has stopped now.  [The noise is
MISS PRISM:  Lady Bracknell, I admit with shame that I do not know.  redoubled.]
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, LADY BRACKNELL:  I wish he would arrive at some conclusion.
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 GWENDOLEN:  This suspense is terrible.  I hope it will last.  [Enter Jack
intended to place the manuscript of a work of fiction that I had written with a hand-bag of black leather in his hand.]
during my few unoccupied hours.  In a moment of mental abstraction,
for which I never can forgive myself, I deposited the manuscript in the JACK:  [Rushing over to Miss Prism.]  Is this the hand-bag, Miss Prism? 
basinette, and placed the baby in the hand-bag. Examine it carefully before you speak.  The happiness of more than one
life depends on your answer.
JACK:  [Who has been listening attentively.]  But where did you deposit
the hand-bag? MISS PRISM:  [Calmly.]  It seems to be mine.  Yes, here is the injury it
received through the upsetting of a Gower Street omnibus in younger
MISS PRISM:  Do not ask me, Mr. Worthing. 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
JACK:  Miss Prism, this is a matter of no small importance to me.  I insist here, on the lock, are my initials.  I had forgotten that in an extravagant
on knowing where you deposited the hand-bag that contained that mood I had had them placed there.  The bag is undoubtedly mine.  I am
infant. delighted to have it so unexpectedly restored to me.  It has been a great
inconvenience being without it all these years.
MISS PRISM:  I left it in the cloak-room of one of the larger railway
stations in London. JACK:  [In a pathetic voice.]  Miss Prism, more is restored to you than
this hand-bag.  I was the baby you placed in it.
JACK:  What railway station?
MISS PRISM:  [Amazed.]  You?
MISS PRISM:  [Quite crushed.]  Victoria.  The Brighton line.  [Sinks into
a chair.] JACK:  [Embracing her.]  Yes . . . mother!
JACK:  I must retire to my room for a moment.  Gwendolen, wait here
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MISS PRISM:  [Recoiling in indignant astonishment.]  Mr. Worthing!  I JACK:  Then I was christened!  That is settled.  Now, what name was I
am unmarried! given?  Let me know the worst.

JACK:  Unmarried!  I do not deny that is a serious blow.  But after all, LADY BRACKNELL:  Being the eldest son you were naturally
who has the right to cast a stone against one who has suffered?  Cannot christened after your father.
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 JACK:  [Irritably.]  Yes, but what was my father’s Christian name?
her again.]
LADY BRACKNELL:  [Meditatively.]  I cannot at the present moment
MISS PRISM:  [Still more indignant.]  Mr. Worthing, there is some error.  recall what the General’s Christian name was.  But I have no doubt he
[Pointing to Lady Bracknell.]  There is the lady who can tell you who had one.  He was eccentric, I admit.  But only in later years.  And that
you really are. was the result of the Indian climate, and marriage, and indigestion, and
other things of that kind.
JACK:  [After a pause.]  Lady Bracknell, I hate to seem inquisitive, but
would you kindly inform me who I am? JACK:  Algy!  Can’t you recollect what our father’s Christian name was?

LADY BRACKNELL:  I am afraid that the news I have to give you ALGERNON:  My dear boy, we were never even on speaking terms.  He
will not altogether please you.  You are the son of my poor sister, Mrs. died before I was a year old.
Moncrieff, and consequently Algernon’s elder brother.
JACK:  His name would appear in the Army Lists of the period, I
JACK:  Algy’s elder brother!  Then I have a brother after all.  I knew I suppose, Aunt Augusta?
had a brother!  I always said I had a brother!  Cecily,—how could you
have ever doubted that I had a brother?  [Seizes hold of Algernon.]  Dr. LADY BRACKNELL:  The General was essentially a man of peace,
Chasuble, my unfortunate brother.  Miss Prism, my unfortunate brother.  except in his domestic life.  But I have no doubt his name would appear
Gwendolen, my unfortunate brother.  Algy, you young scoundrel, you in any military directory.
will have to treat me with more respect in the future.  You have never
behaved to me like a brother in all your life. JACK:  The Army Lists of the last forty years are here.  These delightful
records should have been my constant study.  [Rushes to bookcase
ALGERNON:  Well, not till to-day, old boy, I admit.  I did my best, and tears the books out.]  M. Generals . . . Mallam, Maxbohm, Magley,
however, though I was out of practice. what ghastly names they have—Markby, Migsby, Mobbs, Moncrieff! 
Lieutenant 1840, Captain, Lieutenant-Colonel, Colonel, General 1869,
[Shakes hands.] Christian names, Ernest John.  [Puts book very quietly down and speaks
quite calmly.]  I always told you, Gwendolen, my name was Ernest,
GWENDOLEN:  [To Jack.]  My own!  But what own are you?  What is didn’t I?  Well, it is Ernest after all.  I mean it naturally is Ernest.
your Christian name, now that you have become some one else?
LADY BRACKNELL:  Yes, I remember now that the General was called
JACK:  Good heavens! . . . I had quite forgotten that point.  Your decision Ernest, I knew I had some particular reason for disliking the name.
on the subject of my name is irrevocable, I suppose?
GWENDOLEN:  Ernest!  My own Ernest!  I felt from the first that you
GWENDOLEN:  I never change, except in my affections. could have no other name!

CECILY:  What a noble nature you have, Gwendolen! JACK:  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
JACK:  Then the question had better be cleared up at once.  Aunt forgive me?
Augusta, a moment.  At the time when Miss Prism left me in the hand-
bag, had I been christened already? GWENDOLEN:  I can.  For I feel that you are sure to change.

LADY BRACKNELL:  Every luxury that money could buy, including JACK:  My own one!
christening, had been lavished on you by your fond and doting parents.
CHASUBLE:  [To Miss Prism.]  Lætitia!  [Embraces her]
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MISS PRISM:  [Enthusiastically.]  Frederick!  At last!

ALGERNON:  Cecily!  [Embraces her.]  At last!

JACK:  Gwendolen!  [Embraces her.]  At last!

LADY BRACKNELL:  My nephew, you seem to be displaying signs of

triviality.

JACK:  On the contrary, Aunt Augusta, I’ve now realised for the first
time in my life the vital Importance of Being Earnest.

TABLEAU

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