with laurels! Well, George, after all, we modest fellows don't want for success among the women. Hast. Some women you mean. But what success has your honor's modesty been crowned with now, that it grows so insolent upon us?

Mar. Didn't you see the tempting, brisk, lively little thing that runs about the house with a bunch of keys to its girdle?

Hast. Well, and what then?

Mar. She's mine, you rogue you. Such fire, such motion, such eyes, such lips-but, egad! she would not let me kiss them though.

Hast. But are you sure, so very sure of her?

Mar. Why, man, she talked of showing me her work above stairs, and I'm to approve the pattern.

Hast. But how can you, Charles, go about to rob a woman of her honor?

Mar. Pshaw! pshaw! we all know the honor of a bar-maid of an inn. I don't intend to rob her, take my word for it; there's nothing in this house I shan't honestly pay for.

Hast. I believe the girl has virtue.

Mar. And if she has, I should be the last man in the world that would attempt to corrupt it.

Hast. You have taken care, I hope, of the casket I sent you to lock up? Is it in safety?

Mar. Yes, yes; it's safe enough. I have taken care of it. But how could you think the seat of a post-coach at an inn-door a place of safety? Ah, numskull! I have taken better precautions for you than you did for yourself-I have

Hast. What?

Mar. I have sent it to the landlady to keep for you.
Hast. To the landlady?

Mar. The landlady.

Hast. You did?

Mar. I did. She's to be answerable for its forthcoming, you know.

Hast. Yes, she'll bring it forth, with a witness.

Mar. Wasn't I right? I believe you'll allow that I acted prudently upon this occasion?

Hast. [Aside. He must not see my uneasiness.

Mar. You seem a little disconcerted though, methinks. Sure nothing has happened? Hast. No, nothing. Never was in better spirits in all my life. And so you left it with the landlady, who, no doubt, very readily undertook the charge?

Mar. Rather too readily. For she not only kept the casket, but through her great precaution, was going to keep the messenger too. Ha ha

ha!

Hast. Ha! ha! ha! They're safe, however.
Mar. As a guinea in a miser's purse.

Hast. [Aside.] So now all hopes of fortune are at an end, and we must set off without it. [To Marlow. Well, Charles, I'll leave you to your meditations on the pretty bar-maid, and-ha! ha! ha!-if you are as successful for yourself as you have been for me

'Mar. What then?

Hast. Why, then, I wish you joy with all my heart.

Enter HARDCASTLE, R.

[Exit, L.

Hard. I no longer know my own house. It's turned all topsy-turvy. His servants have got drunk already. I'll bear it no longer;-and yet, from my respect for his father, I'll be calm. [To Marlow.] Mr. Marlow, your servant. I'm your very humble servant. [Bowing low.

Mar. Sir, your humble servant. [Aside.] What's to be the wonder now.

Hard. I believe, sir, you must be sensible, sir, that no man alive ought to be more welcome than your father's son, sir; I hope you think so?

Mar. I do from my soul, sir. I don't want much entreaty. I generally make my father's son welcome whereever he goes.

Hard. I believe you do, from my soul, sir. But though I say nothing to your own conduct, that of your servants is insufferable. Their manner of drinking is setting a very bad example in this house, I assure you.

Mar. I protest, my very good sir, that's no fault of mine. If they don't drink as they ought, they are to blame. I ordered them not to spare the cellar. I did, I assure you. [To the Side-Scene.] Here, let one of my servants come up. [To Hardcastle.] My positive directions were,

that as I did not drink myself, they should make up for my deficiencies below.

Hard. Then they had your orders for what they do? I'm satisfied!

Mar. They had, I assure you. You shall hear from one of themselves.

Enter SERVANT, drunk, L.

You, Jeremy, come forward, sirrah! what were my orders? Were you not told to drink freely, and call for what you thought fit, for the good of the house?

Hard. [Aside.] I begin to lose my patience.

Jer. Please your honor, liberty and Fleet Street for ever! Though I am but a servant, I'm as good as another man. I'll drink for no man before supper, sir, dam'me! Good liquor will sit upon a good supper, but a good supper will not sit upon-hiccup-upon my conscience, sir.

[Exit, L.

Mar. You see, my old friend, the fellow is as drunk as he possibly can be; I don't know what you'd have more, unless you'd have the poor devil soused in a beerbarrel.

Hard. Zounds! He'll drive me distracted if I contain myself any longer. Mr. Marlow, sir, I have submitted to your insolence for more than four hours, and I see no likelihood of its coming to an end. I'm now resolved to be master here, sir, and I desire that you and your drunken pack may leave my house directly.

Mar. Leave your house?-Sure you jest, my good friend! What, when I'm doing what I can to please you ?

Hard. I tell you, sir, you don't please me; so I desire you'll leave my house.

Mar. Sure you cannot be serious? At this time of night, and such a night! You only mean to banter me.

Hard. I tell you, sir, I'm serious; and now that my passions are roused, I say this house is mine, sir; this house is mine, and I command you to leave it directly.

Mar. I shan't stir a step, I assure you. [În a serious tone.] This your house, fellow! it's my house. This is my house. Mine while I choose to stay. What right have you to bid me leave this house, sir? I never met

with such impudence, curse me, never in my whole life before.

Hard. Nor I, confound me if ever I did. To come to my house, to call for what he likes, to turn me out of my own chair, to insult the family, to order his servants to get drunk, and then to tell me, this house is mine, sir. By all that's impudent, it makes me laugh. Ha ha ha! Pray, sir, [Bantering.] as you take the house, what think you of taking the rest of the furniture? There's a pair of silver candlesticks, and there are a set of prints, too. What think you of The Rake's Progress for your own apartment?

Mar. Bring me your bill, I say; and I'll leave you and your infernal house directly.

Hard. Then there's a mahogany table, that you may see your own face in.

Mar. My bill, I say.

Hard. I had forgot the great chair, for your own particular slumbers, after a hearty meal.

Mar. Zounds! bring me my bill, I say, and let's hear

no more on't.

Hard. Young man, young man, from your father's letter to me, I was taught to expect a well-bred modest man, as a visitor here, but now I find him no better than a coxcomb and a bully; but he will be down here presently, and shall hear more of it. [Exit, R. Mar. How's this! Sure I've not mistaken the house! Everything looks like an inn. The servants cry "Coming." The attendance is awkward; the bar-maid, too, to attend us. But she's here, and will further inform me.

Enter MISS HARDCASTLE, L.

Whither so fast, child? A word with you.

Miss H. Let it be short, then. I'm in a hurry.

Mar. Pray, child, answer me one question. What are you, and what may your business in this house be?! Miss H. A relation of the family, sir.

Mar. What! a poor relation?

Miss H. Yes, sir. A poor relation appointed to keep the keys, and to see that the guests want nothing in my power to give them.

Mar. That is, you act as the bar-maid of this inn?

Miss H. Inn! oh, law!-What brought that in your head? One of the best families in the county keep an inn! Ha! ha! ha! old Mr. Hardcastle's house an inn ! Mar. Mr. Hardcastle's house! Is this house Mr. Hardcastle's house, child?

Miss H. Ay, sure. Whose else should it be?

Mar. So, then, all's out, and I have been damnably imposed on. Oh, confound my stupid head! I shall be laughed at over the whole town. I shall be stuck up in caricatura in all the printshops.-The Dullissimo Maccaroni! To mistake this house of all others for an inu, and my father's old friend for an innkeeper. What a swaggering puppy must he take me for. What a silly puppy do I find myself. There again, may I be hanged, my dear, but I mistook you for the bar-maid.

Miss H. Dear me! dear me! I'm sure there's nothing in my behavior to put me upon a level with one of that stamp.

Mar. Nothing, my dear, nothing. But I was in for a list of blunders, and could not help making you a subscriber. My stupidity saw everything the wrong way. I mistook your assiduity for assurance, and your simplicity for allurement. But it's over-this house I no more show my face in.

Miss H. I hope, sir, I have done nothing to disoblige you. I'm sure I should be sorry to affront any gentleman who has been so polite, and said so many civil things to I'm sure I should be sorry-[Pretending to cry.]—if he left the family upon my account. I'm sure I should be sorry people said anything amiss, since I have no fortune but my character.

me.

Mar. [Aside.] By heaven, she weeps! This is the first mark of tenderness I ever had from a modest woman, and it touches me.

Miss H. But I'm sure my family is as good as Miss Hardcastle's, and though I'm poor, that's no great misfortune to a contented mind, and until this moment, I never thought that it was bad to want fortune.

Mar. And why now, my pretty simplicity?

Miss H. Because it puts me at a distance from one, that if I had a thousand pound I would give it all to. Mar. [Aside.] This simplicity bewitches me so, that if