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Morning-room in Algernonís flat in Half-Moon Street. The room is luxuriously and artistically furnished. The sound of a piano 
is heard in the adjoining room.

[Lane is arranging afternoon tea on the table, and after the music has ceased, Algernon enters.]

Algernon. Did you hear what I was playing, Lane?

Lane. I didnít think it polite to listen, sir.

Algernon. Iím sorry for that, for your sake. I donít play accurately - 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 Life.

Lane. Yes, sir.

Algernon. And, speaking of the science of Life, have you got the cucumber sandwiches cut for Lady Bracknell?

Lane. Yes, sir. [Hands them on a salver.]

Algernon. [Inspects them, takes two, and sits down on the sofa.] Oh!... by the way, Lane, I see from your book that on 
Thursday night, when Lord Shoreman and Mr. Worthing were dining with me, eight bottles of champagne are entered as having been 

Lane. Yes, sir; eight bottles and a pint.

Algernon. Why is it that at a bachelorís establishment the servants invariably drink the champagne? I ask merely for 

Lane. I attribute it to the superior quality of the wine, sir. I have often observed that in married households the champagne 
is rarely of a first-rate brand.

Algernon. Good heavens! Is marriage so demoralising as that?

Lane. I believe it IS a very pleasant state, sir. I have had very little experience of it myself up to the present. I have 
only been married once. That was in consequence of a misunderstanding between myself and a young person.

Algernon. [Languidly.] I donít know that I am much interested in your family life, Lane.

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

Algernon. Very natural, I am sure. That will do, Lane, thank you.

Lane. Thank you, sir. [Lane goes out.]

Algernon. Lanes views on marriage seem somewhat lax. Really, if the lower orders donít set us a good example, what on earth is 
the use of them? They seem, as a class, to have absolutely no sense of moral responsibility.

[Enter Lane.]

Lane. Mr. Ernest Worthing.

[Enter Jack.]

[Lane goes out.]

Algernon. How are you, my dear Ernest? What brings you up to town?

Jack. Oh, pleasure, pleasure! What else should bring one anywhere? Eating as usual, I see, Algy!

Algernon. [Stiffly.] I believe it is customary in good society to take some slight refreshment at five oíclock. Where have you 
been since last Thursday?

Jack. [Sitting down on the sofa.] In the country.

Algernon. What on earth do you do there?

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 boring.

Algernon. And who are the people you amuse?

Jack. [Airily.] Oh, neighbours, neighbours.

Algernon. Got nice neighbours in your part of Shropshire?

Jack. Perfectly horrid! Never speak to one of them.

Algernon. How immensely you must amuse them! [Goes over and takes sandwich.] By the way, Shropshire is your county, is it not?

Jack. Eh? Shropshire? Yes, of course. Hallo! Why all these cups? Why cucumber sandwiches? Why such reckless extravagance in 
one so young? Who is coming to tea?

Algernon. Oh! merely Aunt Augusta and Gwendolen.

Jack. How perfectly delightful!

Algernon. Yes, that is all very well; but I am afraid Aunt Augusta wonít quite approve of your being here.

Jack. May I ask why?

Algernon. My dear fellow, the way you flirt with Gwendolen is perfectly disgraceful. It is almost as bad as the way Gwendolen 
flirts with you.

Jack. I am in love with Gwendolen. I have come up to town expressly to propose to her.

Algernon. I thought you had come up for pleasure?... I call that business.

Jack. How utterly unromantic you are!

Algernon. I really donít see anything romantic in proposing. It is very romantic to be in love. But there is nothing romantic 
about a definite proposal. Why, one may be accepted. One usually is, I believe. Then the excitement is all over. The very 
essence of romance is uncertainty. If ever I get married, Iíll certainly try to forget the fact.

Jack. I have no doubt about that, dear Algy. The Divorce Court was specially invented for people whose memories are so 
curiously constituted.

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 at once interferes.] Please donít touch the cucumber sandwiches. They are ordered specially for Aunt 
Augusta. [Takes one and eats it.]

Jack. Well, you have been eating them all the time.

Algernon. That is quite a different matter. She is my aunt. [Takes plate from below.] Have some bread and butter. The bread 
and butter is for Gwendolen. Gwendolen is devoted to bread and butter.

Jack. [Advancing to table and helping himself.] And very good bread and butter it is too.

Algernon. Well, my dear fellow, you need not eat as if you were going to eat it all. You behave as if you were married to her 
already. You are not married to her already, and I donít think you ever will be.

Jack. Why on earth do you say that?

Algernon. Well, in the first place girls never marry the men they flirt with. Girls donít think it right.

Jack. Oh, that is nonsense!

Algernon. It isnít. It is a great truth. It accounts for the extraordinary number of bachelors that one sees all over the 
place. In the second place, I donít give my consent.

Jack. Your consent!

Algernon. My dear fellow, Gwendolen is my first cousin. And before I allow you to marry her, you will have to clear up the 
whole question of Cecily. [Rings bell.]

Jack. Cecily! What on earth do you mean? What do you mean, Algy, by Cecily! I donít know any one of the name of Cecily.

[Enter Lane.]

Algernon. Bring me that cigarette case Mr. Worthing left in the smoking-room the last time he dined here.

Lane. Yes, sir. [Lane goes out.]

Jack. Do you mean to say you have had my cigarette case all this time? I wish to goodness you had let me know. I have been 
writing frantic letters to Scotland Yard about it. I was very nearly offering a large reward.

Algernon. Well, I wish you would offer one. I happen to be more than usually hard up.

Jack. There is no good offering a large reward now that the thing is found.

[Enter Lane with the cigarette case on a salver. Algernon takes it at once. Lane goes out.]

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 that I look at the inscription inside, I find that the thing isnít yours after all.

Jack. Of course itís mine. [Moving to him.] You have seen me with it a hundred times, and you have no right whatsoever to read 
what is written inside. It is a very ungentlemanly thing to read a private cigarette case.

Algernon. Oh! it is absurd to have a hard and fast rule about what one should read and what one shouldnít. More than half of 
modern culture depends on what one shouldnít read.

Jack. I am quite aware of the fact, and I donít propose to discuss modern culture. It isnít the sort of thing one should talk 
of in private. I simply want my cigarette case back.

Algernon. Yes; but this isnít your cigarette case. This cigarette case is a present from some one of the name of Cecily, and 
you said you didnít know any one of that name.

Jack. Well, if you want to know, Cecily happens to be my aunt.

Algernon. Your aunt!

Jack. Yes. Charming old lady she is, too. Lives at Tunbridge Wells. Just give it back to me, Algy.

Algernon. [Retreating to back of sofa.] But why does she call herself little Cecily if she is your aunt and lives at Tunbridge 
Wells? [Reading.] ĎFrom little Cecily with her fondest love.í

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 is a matter that surely an aunt may be allowed to decide for herself. You seem to think that every aunt 
should be exactly like your aunt! That is absurd! For Heavenís sake give me back my cigarette case. [Follows Algernon round 
the room.]

Algernon. Yes. But why does your aunt call you her uncle? ĎFrom little Cecily, with her fondest love to her dear Uncle Jack.í 
There is no objection, I admit, to an aunt being a small aunt, but why an aunt, no matter what her size may be, should call 
her own nephew her uncle, I canít quite make out. Besides, your name isnít Jack at all; it is Ernest.

Jack. It isnít Ernest; itís Jack.

Algernon. You have always told me it was Ernest. I have introduced you to every one as Ernest. You answer to the name of 
Ernest. You look as if your name was Ernest. You are the most earnest-looking person I ever saw in my life. It is perfectly 
absurd your saying that your name isnít Ernest. Itís on your cards. Here is one of them. [Taking it from case.] ĎMr. Ernest 
Worthing, B. 4, The Albany.í Iíll keep this as a proof that your name is Ernest if ever you attempt to deny it to me, or to 
Gwendolen, or to any one else. [Puts the card in his pocket.]

Jack. Well, my name is Ernest in town and Jack in the country, and the cigarette case was given to me in the country.

Algernon. Yes, but that does not account for the fact that your small Aunt Cecily, who lives at Tunbridge Wells, calls you her 
dear uncle. Come, old boy, you had much better have the thing out at once.

Jack. My dear Algy, you talk exactly as if you were a dentist. It is very vulgar to talk like a dentist when one isnít a 
dentist. It produces a false impression,

Algernon. Well, that is exactly what dentists always do. Now, go on! Tell me the whole thing. I may mention that I have always 
suspected you of being a confirmed and secret Bunburyist; and I am quite sure of it now.

Jack. Bunburyist? What on earth do you mean by a Bunburyist?

Algernon. Iíll reveal to you the meaning of that incomparable expression as soon as you are kind enough to inform me why you 
are Ernest in town and Jack in the country.

Jack. Well, produce my cigarette case first.

Algernon. Here it is. [Hands cigarette case.] Now produce your explanation, and pray make it improbable. [Sits on sofa.]

Jack. My dear fellow, there is nothing improbable about my explanation at all. In fact itís perfectly ordinary. Old Mr. Thomas 
Cardew, who adopted me when I was a little boy, made me in his will guardian to his grand-daughter, Miss Cecily Cardew. 
Cecily, who addresses me as her uncle from motives of respect that you could not possibly appreciate, lives at my place in the 
country under the charge of her admirable governess, Miss Prism.

Algernon. Where is that place in the country, by the way?

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 

Algernon. I suspected that, my dear fellow! I have Bunburyed all over Shropshire on two separate occasions. Now, go on. Why 
are you Ernest in town and Jack in the country?

Jack. My dear Algy, I donít know whether you will be able to understand my real motives. You are hardly serious enough. When 
one is placed in the position of guardian, one has to adopt a very high moral tone on all subjects. Itís oneís duty to do so. 
And as a high moral tone can hardly be said to conduce very much to either oneís health or oneís happiness, in order to get up 
to town I have always pretended to have a younger brother of the name of Ernest, who lives in the Albany, and gets into the 
most dreadful scrapes. That, my dear Algy, is the whole truth pure and simple.

Algernon. The truth is rarely pure and never simple. Modern life would be very tedious if it were either, and modern 
literature a complete impossibility!

Jack. That wouldnít be at all a bad thing.

Algernon. Literary criticism is not your forte, my dear fellow. Donít try it. You should leave that to people who havenít been 
at a University. They do it so well in the daily papers. What you really are is a Bunburyist. I was quite right in saying you 
were a Bunburyist. You are one of the most advanced Bunburyists I know.

Jack. What on earth do you mean?

Algernon. You have invented a very useful younger brother called Ernest, in order that you may be able to come up to town as 
often as you like. I have invented an invaluable permanent invalid called Bunbury, in order that I may be able to go down into 
the country whenever I choose. Bunbury is perfectly invaluable. If it wasnít for Bunburyís extraordinary bad health, for 
instance, I wouldnít be able to dine with you at Willisís to-night, for I have been really engaged to Aunt Augusta for more 
than a week.

Jack. I havenít asked you to dine with me anywhere to-night.

Algernon. I know. You are absurdly careless about sending out invitations. It is very foolish of you. Nothing annoys people so 
much as not receiving invitations.

Jack. You had much better dine with your Aunt Augusta.

Algernon. I havenít the smallest intention of doing anything of the kind. To begin with, I dined there on Monday, and once a 
week is quite enough to dine with oneís own relations. In the second place, whenever I do dine there I am always treated as a 
member of the family, and sent down with either no woman at all, or two. In the third place, I know perfectly well whom she 
will place me next to, to-night. She will place me next Mary Farquhar, who always flirts with her own husband across the 
dinner-table. That is not very pleasant. Indeed, it is not even decent... and that sort of thing is enormously on the 
increase. The amount of women in London who flirt with their own husbands is perfectly scandalous. It looks so bad. It is 
simply washing oneís clean linen in public. Besides, now that I know you to be a confirmed Bunburyist I naturally want to talk 
to you about Bunburying. I want to tell you the rules.

Jack. Iím not a Bunburyist at all. If Gwendolen accepts me, I am going to kill my brother, indeed I think Iíll kill him in any 
case. Cecily is a little too much interested in him. It is rather a bore. So I am going to get rid of Ernest. And I strongly 
advise you to do the same with Mr... with your invalid friend who has the absurd name.

Algernon. Nothing will induce me to part with Bunbury, and if you ever get married, which seems to me extremely problematic, 
you will be very glad to know Bunbury. A man who marries without knowing Bunbury has a very tedious time of it.

Jack. That is nonsense. If I marry a charming girl like Gwendolen, and she is the only girl I ever saw in my life that I would 
marry, I certainly wonít want to know Bunbury.

Algernon. Then your wife will. You donít seem to realise, that in married life three is company and two is none.

Jack. [Sententiously.] That, my dear young friend, is the theory that the corrupt French Drama has been propounding for the 
last fifty years.

Algernon. Yes; and that the happy English home has proved in half the time.

Jack. For heavenís sake, donít try to be cynical. Itís perfectly easy to be cynical.

Algernon. My dear fellow, it isnít easy to be anything nowadays. Thereís such a lot of beastly competition about. [The sound 
of an electric bell is heard.] Ah! that must be Aunt Augusta. Only relatives, or creditors, ever ring in that Wagnerian 
manner. Now, if I get her out of the way for ten minutes, so that you can have an opportunity for proposing to Gwendolen, may 
I dine with you to-night at Willisís?

Jack. I suppose so, if you want to.

Algernon. Yes, but you must be serious about it. I hate people who are not serious about meals. It is so shallow of them.

[Enter Lane.]

Lady Bracknell and Miss Fairfax.

[Algernon goes forward to meet them. Enter Lady Bracknell and Gwendolen.]

Lady Bracknell. Good afternoon, dear Algernon, I hope you are behaving very well.

Algernon. Iím feeling very well, Aunt Augusta.

Lady Bracknell. Thatís not quite the same thing. In fact the two things rarely go together. [Sees Jack and bows to him with 
icy coldness.]

Algernon. [To Gwendolen.] Dear me, you are smart!

Gwendolen. I am always smart! Am I not, Mr. Worthing?

Jack. Youíre quite perfect, Miss Fairfax.

Gwendolen. Oh! I hope I am not that. It would leave no room for developments, and I intend to develop in many directions. 
[Gwendolen and Jack sit down together in the corner.]

Lady Bracknell. Iím sorry if we are a little late, Algernon, but I was obliged to call on dear Lady Harbury. I hadnít been 
there since her poor husbandís death. I never saw a woman so altered; she looks quite twenty years younger. And now Iíll have 
a cup of tea, and one of those nice cucumber sandwiches you promised me.

Algernon. Certainly, Aunt Augusta. [Goes over to tea-table.]

Lady Bracknell. Wonít you come and sit here, Gwendolen?

Gwendolen. Thanks, mamma, Iím quite comfortable where I am.

Algernon. [Picking up empty plate in horror.] Good heavens! Lane! Why are there no cucumber sandwiches? I ordered them 

Lane. [Gravely.] There were no cucumbers in the market this morning, sir. I went down twice.

Algernon. No cucumbers!

Lane. No, sir. Not even for ready money.

Algernon. That will do, Lane, thank you.

Lane. Thank you, sir. [Goes out.]

Algernon. I am greatly distressed, Aunt Augusta, about there being no cucumbers, not even for ready money.

Lady Bracknell. It really makes no matter, Algernon. I had some crumpets with Lady Harbury, who seems to me to be living 
entirely for pleasure now.

Algernon. I hear her hair has turned quite gold from grief.

Lady Bracknell. It certainly has changed its colour. From what cause I, of course, cannot say. [Algernon crosses and hands 
tea.] Thank you. Iíve quite a treat for you to-night, Algernon. I am going to send you down with Mary Farquhar. She is such a 
nice woman, and so attentive to her husband. Itís delightful to watch them.

Algernon. I am afraid, Aunt Augusta, I shall have to give up the pleasure of dining with you to-night after all.

Lady Bracknell. [Frowning.] I hope not, Algernon. It would put my table completely out. Your uncle would have to dine 
upstairs. Fortunately he is accustomed to that.

Algernon. It is a great bore, and, I need hardly say, a terrible disappointment to me, but the fact is I have just had a 
telegram to say that my poor friend Bunbury is very ill again. [Exchanges glances with Jack.] They seem to think I should be 
with him.

Lady Bracknell. It is very strange. This Mr. Bunbury seems to suffer from curiously bad health.

Algernon. Yes; poor Bunbury is a dreadful invalid.

Lady Bracknell. Well, I must say, Algernon, that I think it is high time that Mr. Bunbury made up his mind whether he was 
going to live or to die. This shilly-shallying with the question is absurd. Nor do I in any way approve of the modern sympathy 
with invalids. I consider it morbid. Illness of any kind is hardly a thing to be encouraged in others. Health is the primary 
duty of life. I am always telling that to your poor uncle, but he never seems to take much notice... as far as any improvement 
in his ailment goes. I should be much obliged if you would ask Mr. Bunbury, from me, to be kind enough not to have a relapse 
on Saturday, for I rely on you to arrange my music for me. It is my last reception, and one wants something that will 
encourage conversation, particularly at the end of the season when every one has practically said whatever they had to say, 
which, in most cases, was probably not much.

Algernon. Iíll speak to Bunbury, Aunt Augusta, if he is still conscious, and I think I can promise you heíll be all right by 
Saturday. Of course the music is a great difficulty. You see, if one plays good music, people donít listen, and if one plays 
bad music people donít talk. But Iíll run over the programme Iíve drawn out, if you will kindly come into the next room for a 

Lady Bracknell. Thank you, Algernon. It is very thoughtful of you. [Rising, and following Algernon.] Iím sure the programme 
will be delightful, after a few expurgations. French songs I cannot possibly allow. People always seem to think that they are 
improper, and either look shocked, which is vulgar, or laugh, which is worse. But German sounds a thoroughly respectable 
language, and indeed, I believe is so. Gwendolen, you will accompany me.

Gwendolen. Certainly, mamma.

[Lady Bracknell and Algernon go into the music-room, Gwendolen remains behind.]