Land. [Apart to TONY.] Sure, you ben't send | ing them to your father's as an inn, be you?

Tony. Mum, you fool you. Let them find that out. [To them.] You have only to keep on streight forward, till you come to a large old house by the road side. You'll see a pair of large horns over the door. That's the sign. Drive up the yard, and call stoutly about you.

Hust Sir, we are obliged to you. The servants cann't miss the way?

Tony. No, no: But I tell you though, the landlord is rich, and going to leave off business; so he wants to be thought a gentleman, saving your presence, he he! he! He'll be for giving you his company; and ecod, if you mind him, he'll pre

ACT II.

Enter Servant with Candles, shewing in MAR- indeed, like an eastern bridegroom, one were to

LOW and HASTINGS.

Serv. Welcome, gentlemen, very welcome. This way.

Hast. After the disappointments of the day, welcome, once more, Charles, to the comforts of a clean room and a good fire. Upon my word, a very well-looking house; antique but creditable. Mar. The usual fate of a large mansion. Having first ruined the master by good housekeeping, it at last comes to levy contributions as an inn. Hast. As you say, we passengers are to be taxed to pay all these fineries. I have often seen a good side-board, or a marble chimney-piece, though not actually put in the bill, inflame the bill confoundedly.

Mar. Travellers, George, must pay in all places. The only difference is, that in good inns, you pay dearly for luxuries; in bad inns, you are fleeced and starved.

Hast. You have lived pretty much among them. In truth, I have been often surprised, that you who have seen so much of the world, with your natural good sense, and your many opportunities, could never yet acquire a requisite share of as

surance.

Mur. The Englishman's malady. But tell me, George, where could I have learned that assurance you talk of? My life has been chiefly spent in a college, or an inn, in seclusion from that lovely part of the creation that chiefly teach men confidence. I don't know that I was ever familiarly acquainted with a single modest womanexcept my mother-But among females of another class, you know—

Hast. Ay, among them you are impudent enough of all conscience.

Mar. They are of us, you know.

Hast. But in the company of women of reputation I never saw such an idiot, such a trembler ; you look for all the world as if you wanted an opportunity of stealing out of the room.

Mar. Why, man, that's because I do want to steal out of the room. Faith, I have often formed a resolution to break the ice, and rattle away at any rate; but, I don't know how, a single glance from a pair of fine eyes has totally overset my resolution. An impudent fellow may counterfeit modesty, but I'll be hanged if a modest man can ever counterfeit impudence.

Hast. If you could but say half the fine things to them that I have heard you lavish upon the bar-maid of an inn, or even a college bed-maker. Mar. Why, George, I cann't say fine things to them. They freeze, they petrify me. They may talk of a comet, or a burning mountain, or some such bagatelle; but to me, a modest woman, drest out in all her finery, is the most tremendous object of the whole creation.

be introduced to a wife he never saw before, it might be endured. But to go through all the terrors of a formal courtship, together with the episode of aunts, grandmothers, and cousins, and at last to blurt out the broad staring question of, Madam, will you marry me? No, no, that's a strain much above me, I assure you.

Hast. I pity you. But how do you intend behaving to the lady you are come down to visit at the request of your father?

Mar. As I behave to all other ladies-bow very low, answer yes, or no, to all her demands -But for the rest, I don't think I shall venture to look in her face, till I see my father's again.

Hast. I'm surprised that one who is so warm a friend can be so cool a lover.

Mar. To be explicit, my dear Hastings, my chief inducement down was to be instrumental in forwarding your happiness, not my own. Miss Neville loves you, the family don't know you; as my friend you are sure of a reception, and let honour do the rest.

Hast. My dear Marlow!-But I'll suppress the emotion. Were I a wretch, meanly seeking to carry off a fortune, you should be the last man in the world I would apply to for assistance; but Miss Neville's person is all I ask, and that is mine, both from her deceased father's consent, and her own inclination.

Mar. Happy man! You have talents and art to captivate any woman. I'm doom'd to adore the sex, and yet to converse with the only part. of it I despise. This stammer in my address, and this awkward prepossessing visage of mine, can never permit me to soar above the reach of a milliner's 'prentice, or one of the duchesses of Drurylane.-Pshaw! this fellow here to interrupt us.

Enter HARDCASTLE.

Hard. Gentlemen, once more you are heartily welcome. Which is Mr Marlow? Sir, you're heartily welcome. It's not my way, you see, to receive my friends with my back to the fire. I like to give them a hearty reception in the old style at my gate. I like to see their horses and trunks taken care of.

Mar. [Aside.] He has got our names from the servants already. [To him.] We approve your caution and hospitality, sir. [To HAST.] I have been thinking, George, of changing our travelling dresses in the morning; I am grown confoundedly ashamed of mine.

Hard. I beg, Mr Marlow, you'll use no ceremony in this house.

Hast. I fancy, George, you're right: the first blow is half the battle. I intend opening the campaign with white and gold.

Hard. Mr Marlow-Mr Hastings-gentlemen' Hast. Ha! ha! ha! At this rate, man, how-pray be under no restraint in this house. This is Liberty-hall, gentlemen. You may do just as you please here.

can you ever expect to marry?

Mar. Never, unless, as among kings and princes, my bride were to be courted by proxy. If,

Mar. Yet, George, if we open the campaign

too fiercely at first, we may want ammunition before it is over. I think to reserve the embroidery to secure a retreat.

Hard. Your talking of a retreat, Mr Marlow, puts me in mind of the Duke of Marlborough, when he went to besiege Denain. He first summoned the garrison.

Mar. Don't you think the ventre dor waistcoat will do with the plain brown?

Hard. He first summoned the garrison, which might consist of five thousand men

Hast. I think not: brown and yellow mix but very poorly.

Hard. I say, gentlemen, as I was telling you, he summoned the garrison, which might consist of about five thousand men.

Mar. The girls like finery.

Hast. So that, with eating above stairs, and drinking below, with receiving your friends within, and amusing them without, you lead a good pleasant bustling life of it.

Hard. I do stir about a good deal, that's certain. Half the differences of the parish are adjusted in this very parlour.

Mar. [After drinking.] And you have an argument in your cup, old gentleman, better than any in Wesminster-hall.

Hard. Ay, young gentleman, that, and a little philosophy.

Mar. [Aside.] Well, this is the first time I ever heard of an innkeeper's philosophy!

Hust. So then, like an experienced general, you attack them on every quarter. If you find their reason manageable, you attack it with your philo

Hard. Which might consist of about five thou-sophy; if you find they have no reason, you attack sand men, well appointed with stores, ammuni- them with this. Here's your health, my philosotion, and other implements of war. Now, says pher. [Drinks. the Duke of Marlborough to George Brooks, I'll pawn my dukedom, says he, but I take that garrison without spilling a drop of blood. So

Mar. What, my good friend, if you give us a lass of punch in the mean time, it would help us to carry on the siege with vigour.

Hurd. Punch, sir! [Aside.] This is the most unaccountable kind of modesty I ever met with. Mar. Yes, sir, punch. A glass of warm punch, after our journey, will be comfortable This is Liberty-hall, you know.

Hard. Here's cup, sir.

Mar. [Aside.] So this fellow, in his Liberty-hall, will only let us have just what he pleases.

Hard. [Taking the cup.] I hope you'll find it to your mind. I have prepared it with my own hands, and I believe you'll own the ingredients are tolerable. Will you be so good as to pledge me, sir? Here, Mr Marlow, here is to our better acquain[Drinks. Mar. [Aside.] A very impudent fellow this! but he's a character; and I'll humour him a little. Sir, my service to you. [Drinks.]

tance.

Hust. [Aside.] I see this fellow wants to give us his company, and forgets that he's an innkeeper before he has learned to be a gentleman.

Mar. From the excellence of your cup, my old friend, I suppose you have a good deal of business in this part of the country? Warm work, now and then at elections, I suppose?

Hard. No, sir, I have long given that work over. Since our betters have hit upon the expedient of electing each other, there's no business for us that sell ale.

Hard. Good, very good, thank you; ha! ha! Your generalship puts me in mind of Prince Eugene, when he fought the Turks at the battle of Belgrade.

You shall hear.

Mar. Instead of the battle of Belgrade, I think it's almost time to talk about supper. What has your philosophy got in the house for supper?

Hard. For supper, sir! [Aside.] Was ever such a request to a man in his own house!

Mar. Yes, sir, supper, sir; I begin to feel an appetite. I shall make devilish work to-night in the larder, I promise you.

Hard. [Aside.] Such a brazen dog sure never my eyes beheld. [To him.] Why really, sir, as for supper, I can't well tell. Mrs Dorothy and the cookmaid settle these things between them. I leave these kind of things entirely to them.

Mar. You do, do you?

Hard. Entirely. By-the-bye, I believe they are in actual consultation upon what's for supper this moment in the kitchen.

Mar. Then I beg they'll admit me as one of their privy-council. It's a way I've got. When I travel, I always choose to regulate my own supper. Let the cook be called. No offence, I hope, sir?

Hard. O no, sir, none in the least: yet I don't know how, our Bridget, the cook-maid, is not very communicative upon these occasions. Should we send for her, she might scold us all out of the house.

Hast. Let's see the list of the larder then. I ask it as a favour. I always match my appetite to my bill of fare.

Mar. [To HARDCASTLE, who looks at them with surprise.] Sir, he's very right, and it's my way too. Hust. So then you have no turn for politics, I Hard. Sir, you have a right to command here. find. Here, Roger, bring us the bill of fare for to-night's Hard. Not in the least. There was a time, in-supper. I believe it's drawn out. Your manner, deed, I fretted myself about the mistakes of government, like other people; but, finding myself every day grow more angry, and the government growing no better, I left it to mend itself. Since that, I no more trouble my head about Heyder Ally, or Ally Cawn, than about Ally Croaker. Sir, my service to you.

VOL. IV.

Mr Hastings, puts me in mind of my uncle, Colonel Wallop. It was a saying of his, that no man was sure of his supper till he had eaten it.

Hast. Aside. All upon the high ropes! His uncle a colonel! we shall soon hear of his mother being a justice of peace. But let's hear the bill of fare. Mar. [Perusing.] What's here? For the first

2 M

Mar. Or you may clap them on a plate by them-tunity of my friend's visit here to get admittance selves. I do.

Hast. Well! but wasn't it the most fortunate thing in the world?

encounter

To

Mar. Oh yes! very fortunate-a most joyful -But our dresses, George, you know, are in disorder- -What if we should postpone the happiness till to-morrow? morrow at her own house-It will be every bit as convenient, and rather more respectful -To-morrow let it be. [Offering to go. Miss Nev. By no means, sir. Your ceremony will displease her. The disorder of your dress will shew the ardour of your impatience. Besides, she knows you are in the house, and will permit you -to see her.

Mar. O the devil, how shall I support it! Hem! hem! Hastings, you must not go. You are to assist me, you know. I shall be confoundedly ridiculous. Yet, hang it! I'll take courage. Hem! Hast. Pshaw, man! it's but the first plunge, and all's over. She's but a woman, you know. Mur. And of all women, she that I dread most to encounter!

Enter Miss HARDCASTLE, as returning from walking, a Bonnet, &c.

Hast. [Introducing them.] Miss Hardcastle, Mr Marlow. I'm proud of bringing two persons of such merit together, that only want to know, to esteem each other.

Miss Hard. [Aside.] Now, for meeting my modest gentleman with a demure face, and quite in his own manner. [After a pause, in which he appears very uneasy and disconcerted.] I'm glad of your safe arrival, sir-I'm told you had some accidents by the way.

Mar. Only a few, madam. Yes, we had some. Yes, madam, a good many accidents, but should be sorry -Madam-or rather glad, of any accidents that are so agreeably concluded. Hem! Hast. [To him.] You never spoke better in your whole life. Keep it up, and I'll insure you the victory.

Miss Hard. I'm afraid you flatter, sir. You that have seen so much of the finest company, can find little entertainment in an obscure corner of the country.

Mar. [Gathering courage.] I have lived, indeed, in the world, madam; but I have kept very little company. Í have been but an observer upon life, madam, while others were enjoying it. Miss Nev. But that, I am told, is the way to enjoy it at last.

Hast. [To him.] Cicero never spoke better. Once more, and you are confirmed in assurance for ever.

Mar. [To him.] Hem! Stand by me then, and when I'm down, throw in a word or two to set me up again.

Miss Hard. An observer, like you, upon life, were, I fear, disagreeably employed, since you must have had much more to censure than to approve.

Mar. Pardon me, madam. I was always willing to be amused. The folly of most people is rather an object of mirth than uneasiness.

Hast. [To him.] Bravo, bravo! Never spoke so well in your whole life. Well! Miss Hardcastle, I see that you and Mr Marlow are going to be very good company. I believe our being here will but embarrass the interview.

Mur. Not in the least, Mr Hastings. We like your company of all things, [To him.] Zounds! George, sure you won't go! How can you leave us?

Hast. Our presence will but spoil conversation, so we'll resire to the next room. [To him.] You don't consider, man, that we are to manage a [Exeunt. little tète-a-tête of our own.

Miss Hard. [After a pause.j But you have not been wholly an observer, I presume, sir: The ladies, I should hope, have employed some part of your addresses?"

Mar. [Relapsing into timidity.] Pardon me, madam, I-I-I-as yet have studied-only-to

-deserve them.

Miss Hard. And that, some say, is the very worst way to obtain them.

Mar. Perhaps so, madam; but I love to converse only with the more grave and sensible part -But I'm afraid I grow tiresome.

of the sex

Miss Hard. Not at all, sir; there is nothing I like so much as grave conversation myself; I could hear it for ever. Indeed I have often been surprised how a man of sentiment could ever admire those light airy pleasures, where nothing reaches the heart.

Mar. It's

-a disease of the mind, madam. In the variety of tastes, there must be some, who, wanting a relish

-a-um.

-for

-um

Miss Hard. I understand you, sir. There must be some, who, wanting a relish for refined pleasures, pretend to despise what they are incapable of tasting.

Mar. My meaning, madam, but infinitely bet ter expressed. And I cannot help observing-a

Miss Hard. [Aside.] Who could ever suppose this fellow impudent upon some occasions: [To him.] You were going to observe, sir

Mar. I was observing, madam-I protest, madam, I forget what I was going to observe.

Miss Hard. [Aside.] I vow, and so do I. [To him.] You were observing, sir, that, in this age of hypocrisy-something about hypocrisy, sir.

Mar. Yes, madam, in this age of hypocrisy, there are who, upon strict enquiry, do not-a-a

Miss Hard. I understand you perfectly, sir. Mar. [Aside.] Egad! and that's more than I do myself.

Miss Hard. You mean that, in this hypocritical age, there are few that do not condemn in public what they practise in private, and think they pay every debt to virtue when they praise it.

Mar. True, madam; those who have most virtue in their mouths have least of it in their bosoms. But I'm sure I tire you, madam.

Miss Hard. Not in the least, sir; there's something so agreeable and spirited in your manner, such life and force-Pray, sir, go on.