SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER:

R,

THE MISTAKES OF A NIGHT.

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE, a Chamber in an old-fashioned Houfe.

Enter Mrs. HARDCASTLE and Mr. HARDCASTLE,

Ivow,

Mrs. HARDCASTLE.

VO W, Mr. Hardcastle, you're very particular. Is there a creature in the whole country, but ourfelves, that does not take a trip to town now and then, to rub off the ruft a little? There's the two Mifs Hoggs, and our neighbour, Mrs. Grigsby, go to take a month's polishing every winter.

HARDCASTLE.

Aye, and bring back vanity and affectation to last them the whole year. I wonder why London cannot keep its own fools at home! In my time, the follies

K 4

follies of the town crept flowly among us, but now they travel faster than a stage-coach. Its fopperies come down, not only as infide paffengers, but in the very basket.

Mrs. HARDCASTLE.

Aye, your times were fine times, indeed; you have been telling us of them for many a long year. Here we live in an old rumbling manfion, that looks for all the world like an inn, but, that we never fee company. Our beft vifitors are old Mrs. Oddfish, the curate's wife, and little Cripplegate, the lamę dancing-master; and all our entertainment your old ftories of prince Eugene and the duke of Marlborough. I hate fuch old-fashioned trumpery.

HARDCASTLE.

And I love it. I love every thing that's old: old friends, old times, old manners, old books, old wine; and, I believe, Dorothy, (taking her hand) you'll own I have been pretty fond of an old wife.

Mrs. HARDCASTLE.

Lord, Mr. Hardcastle, you're for ever at your Dorothy's and your old wife's. You may be a Darby, but I'll be no Joan, I promise you. I'm not fo old as you'd make me, by more than one good year. Add twenty to twenty, and make money of

that.

HARDCASTLE.

Let me fee; twenty added to twenty, makes juft

fifty and feven.

Mrs.

Mrs. HARDCASTLE.

It's falfe, Mr. Hardcastle: I was but twenty when I was brought to bed of Tony, that I had by Mr. Lumpkin, my first husband; and he's not come to of difcretion yet.

years

HARDCASTLE.

Nor ever will, I dare answer for him.

have taught him finely.

Mrs. HARDCASTLE.

Aye, you

No matter, Tony Lumpkin has a good fortune. My fon is not to live by his learning. I don't think a boy wants much learning to spend fifteen hundred a year.

HARDCASTLE.

Learning, quotha! A mere compofition of tricks and mischief.

Mrs. HARDCASTLE.

Humour, my dear: nothing but humour. Come, Mr. Hardcastle, you must allow the boy a little hu

mour.

HARDCASTLE.

I'd fooner allow him an horfe-pond. If burning the footmen's fhoes, frightening the maids, and worrying the kittens, be humour, he has it. It was but yesterday he fastened my wig to the back of my chair, and when I went to make a bow, I popt my bald head in Mrs. Frizzle's face.

Mrs. HARDCASTLE.

And am I to blame? too fickly to do any good.

The poor boy was always A fchool would be his death.

death. When he comes to be a little stronger, who knows what a year or two's Latin may do for him?

Latin for him!

alehouse and the ever go to.

HARDCASTLE.

A cat and fiddle. No, no, the ftable are the only schools he'll

Mrs. HARDCASTLE.

Well, we must not fnub the poor boy now, for I believe we fhan't have him long among us. Any body that looks in his face may fee he's confumptive.

HARDCASTLE.

Aye, if growing too fat be one of the symptoms. Mrs. HARDCASTLE.

He coughs fometimes.

HARDCASTLE.

Yes, when his liquor goes the wrong way.

Mrs. HARDCASTLE.

I'm actually afraid of his lungs.

HARDCASTLE.

And truly fo am I; for he fometimes whoops like a speaking trumpet-(Tony ballooing behind the Scenes -O there he goes a very confumptive figure, truly.

Enter TONY, croffing the ftage.

Mrs. HARDCASTLE.

Tony, where are you going, my charmer? Won't you give papa and I a little of your company, lovee ?

TONY.

TONY.

I'm in hafte, mother, I cannot stay.

Mrs. HARDCASTLE.

You fhan't venture out this raw evening, my dear: You look most shockingly.

TONY.

I can't ftay, I tell you. The three pigeons expects me down every moment. There's fome fun going forward.

fo.

HARDCASTLE.

Aye; the ale-houfe, the old place: I thought

Mrs. HARDCASTLE,

A low, paltry fet of fellows.

TONY.

Not fo low neither. There's Dick Muggins the excifeman, Jack Slang the horfe doctor, little Aminadab that grinds the mufic box, and Tom Twist that spins the pewter platter.

Mrs. HARDCASTLE.

Pray, my dear, disappoint them for one night at least.

TONY,

As for disappointing them I should not fo much mind; but I can't abide to disappoint myself. Mrs. HARDCASTLE.

(Detaining him) You fhan't go.

TONY.

I will, I tell you.

Mrs.