Man. What has been the matter, John? J. Moody. Why, we came up in such a hurry, you mun think, that our tackle was not so tight as it should be. Man. Come, tell us all-Pray, how do they travel? J. Moody. Why, i' the awld coach, measter; and, 'cause my lady loves to do things handsome, to be sure, she would have a couple of cart-horses clapt to the four old geldings, that neighbours might see she went up to London in her coach and six; and so Giles Joulter, the ploughman, rides postillion. Man. Very well! the journey sets out as it should do.-Aside.]-What, do they bring all the children with them, too? J. Moody. Noa, noa; only the younk 'squoire and Miss Jenny. The other foive are all out at board, at half-a-crown a-head a-week, with John Growse, at Smoke-dunghill farm. Man. Good again! a right English academy for young children! J. Moody. Anan, sir? [Not understanding him. Lady Grace. Poor souls! What will become of them? J. Moody. Nay, nay; for that matter, madam, they are in very good hands: Joan loves 'um as tho'f they were all her own: for she was wetnurse to every mother's babe of 'um-Ay, ay; they'll ne'er want for a belly-full there! Lady Grace. What simplicity! Man. The Lud 'a mercy upon all good folks! What work will these people make! [Holding up his hands. Lord Town. And when do you expect them here, John? J. Moody. Why, we were in hopes to ha' come yesterday, an' it had no' been that th' awld Weazlebelly horse tired: and then we were so cruelly loaden, that the two fore-wheels came crash down at once, in Waggon-rut-lane, and there we lost four horses 'fore we could set things to right again. Man. So, they bring all the baggage with the coach, then? J. Moody. Ay, ay; and good store on it there isWhy, my lady's geer alone were as much as filled four portmantel trunks, beside the great deal box that heavy Ralph and the monkey sit upon behind. Lord Town. Lady Grace. Ha, ha, ha! Lady Grace. Well, Mr Moody, and pray how many are they within the coach? J. Moody. Why, there's my lady, and his worship; and the younk 'squoire, and Miss Jenny, and the fat lap-dog, and my lady's maid, Mrs Handy, and Doll Tripe, the cook, that's allOnly Doll puked a little with riding backward; VOL. II. so, they hoisted her into the coach-box, and then her stomach was easy. Lady Grace. Oh, I see them! I see them go by me. Ha, ha! [Laughing. J. Moody. Then you mun think, measter, there was some stowage for the belly, as well as the back, too; children are apt to be famished upon the road; so we had such cargoes of plumcake, and baskets of tongues, and biscuits, and cheese, and cold boiled beef-And, then, in case of sickness, bottles of cherry-brandy, plague water, sack, tent, and strong beer so plenty, as made the awld coach crack again. Mercy upon them! and send them all well to town, I say! Man. Aye, and well out of it again, John. J. Moody. Ods bud, measter! you're a wise man; and for that matter, so am I-Whoam's whoam, I say: I am sure we ha' got but little good e'er sin' we turned our backs on't. Nothing but mischief! Some devil's trick or other plagued us all aw the day lang. Crack, goes one thing! bawnce, goes another! Woa! says Roger-Then, sowse! we are all set fast in a slough. Whaw, cries miss! Scream, go the maids! and bawl, just as thof' they were stuck. And so, mercy on us! this was the trade from morning to night. But my lady was in such a murrain haste to be here, that set out she would, thof' I told her it was Childermas day. Man. These ladies, these ladies, John J. Moody. Ay, measter! I ha' seen a little of them and I find, that the best-when she's mended, won't ha' much goodness to spare. Lord Town. Well said, John! Ha, ha! Man. I hope, at least, you and your good woman agree still? J. Moody. Av, ay; much of a muchness. Bridget sticks to me: though, as for her goodness -why, she was coming to London, too— But hauld a bit! Noa, noa, says I; there may be mischief enough done without you. Man. Why that was bravely spoken, John, and like a man. J. Moody. Ah, weast heart! were measter but hawf the mon that I am -Ods wookers! thof' he'll speak stautly, too, sometimes-But then he canno' hawld it- -no, he canno' hawld it. your worship dwells, at the sign of the golden[ ball-It's gold all over; where they sell ribbons and flappits, and other sort of geer for gentlewo-would lay down their cards to laugh at you. Lord Town. Oh, the tramontane ! If this were known at half the quadrille tables in town, they men. Man. A milliner's! J. Moody. Ay, ay, one Mrs Motherly.Waunds, she has a couple of clever girls there, stitching i' the fore-room.. Man. Yes, yes, she's a woman of good business, no doubt on't-Who recommended that house to you, John? J. Moody. The greatest good fortune in the world, sure; for, as I was gaping about the streets, who should look out of the window there, but the fine gentleman that was always riding by our coach side at York races-Count-Basset; av, that's he. Man. Basset! Oh, I remember! I know him by sight. J. Moody. Well, to be sure, as civil a gentle Lady Grace. And the minute they took them up again, they would do the same at the losersBut to let you see, that I think good company may sometimes want cards to keep them together; what think you, if we three sat soberly down to kill an hour at ombre? Man. I shall be too hard for you, madam. Lady Grace. No matter; I shall have as much advantage of my lord, as you have of me. Lord Town. Say you so, madam? have at you, then. Here! get the ombre table, and cards. [Exit LORD TOWNLY. Lady Grace. Come, Mr Manly—I know you don't forgive me now. Man. I don't know whether I ought to forgive your thinking so, madam. Where do you imagine I could pass my time so agreeably? Lady Grace. I'm sorry my lord is not here, to take his share of the compliment-But he'll wonder what's become of us. Man. I'll follow in a moment, madam— [Erit LADY GRACE. It must be so-She sees I love her-yet with what unoffending decency she avoids an explanation? How amiable is every hour of her conduct! What a vile opinion have I had of the whole sex, for these ten years past, which this sensible creature has recovered in less than one! Such a companion, sure, might compensate all the irksome disappointments that pride, folly, and falsehood, ever gave me ! Could women regulate, like her, their lives, What halcyon days were in the gift of wives! Vain rovers, then, might envy what they hate; And only fools would mock the married state. [Exit. ACT II. SCENE I.-MRS MOTHERLY's house. Enter COUNT BASSET and MRS MOTHERLY.. Count Bas. I TELL you there is not such a family in England for you. Do you think I would have gone out of your lodgings for any body that was not sure to make you easy for the winter? Moth. Nay, I see nothing against it, sir, but the gentleman's being a parliament-man; and when people may, as it were, think one impertinent, or be out of humour, you know, when a body comes to ask for one's own Count Bas. Pshaw! Prithee never trouble thy head: his pay is as good as the bank-Why, he has above two thousand a-year. Moth. Alas-a-day, that's nothing! your peo ple of ten thousand a-year have ten thousand things to do with it. Count Bas. Nay, if you are afraid of being out of your money, what do you think of going a little with me, Mrs Motherly? Moth. As how? Count Bas. Why, I have a game in my hand, in which, if you'll croup me, that is, help me to play it, you shall go five hundred to nothing. Moth. Say you so? Why, then, I go, sir-and now, pray let's see your game. Count Bas. Look you, in one word, my cards lie thus-When I was down this summer at York, I happened to lodge in the same house with this knight's lady, that's now coming to lodge with you. Moth. Did you so, sir? Count Bas. And sometimes had the honour to breakfast, and pass an idle hour with her Moth. Very good; and here, I suppose, you would have the impudence to sup and be busy with her. Count Bas. Pshaw! prithee, hear me. Moth. Is this your game? I would not give sixpence for it. What! you have a passion for her pin-money- -No, no; country ladies are upon the four aces, are liable, sometimes, you know, to have a wheel out of order; which, I confess, is so much my case at present, that my dapple greys are reduced to a pair of ambling chairmen. Now, if, with your assistance, I can whip up this young jade into a hackney-coach, I may chance, in a day or two after, to carry her, in my own chariot, en famille, to an opera. Now, what do you say to me? not so flush of it! it. Count Bas. Nay, if you won't have patience-ing Moth. One had need to have a good deal, I am sure, to hear you talk at this rate. Is this your way of making my poor niece, Myrtilla, easy? Count Bas. Death! I shall do it still, if the woman will but let me speak Moth. Had you not a letter from her this morning? Count Bas. I have it here in my pocket-this is it [Shews it, and puts it up again. Moth. Ay; but I don't find you have made any answer to it. Count Bas. How the devil can I, if you won't hear me? Moth. What! hear you talk of another woman! Count Bas. Oh, lud! Oh, lud! I tell you, I'll make her fortune- -Ounds, I'll marry her! Moth. A likely matter! If you would not do it when she was a maid, your stomach is not so sharp set now, I presume. Count Bas. Hey-day! why, your head begins to turn, my dear! The devil! you did not think I proposed to marry her myself? Moth. If you don't, who the devil do you think will marry her? Count Bas. Why, a fool Moth. Humph! there may be sense in thatCount Bas. Very good-one for t'other, then. If I can help her to a husband, why should you not come into my scheme of helping me to a wife? Moth. Your pardon, sir. Ay, ay; in an honourable affair, you know you may command me. But, pray, where is this blessed wife and husband to be had? Count Bas. Now, have a little patience-You must know then, that this country knight and his lady bring up in the coach with them their eldest son and a daughter, to teach them to wash their faces, and turn their toes out. Moth. Good Count Bas. The son is an unlicked whelp, about sixteen, just taken from school; and begins to hanker after every wench in the family: the daughter, much of the same age, a pert forward hussy, who, having eight thousand pounds left her by an old doting grandmother, seems to have a devilish mind to be doing in her way, too. Moth. And your design is to put her into business for life? Count Bas. Look you-in short, Mrs Motherly, we gentlemen, whose occasional chariots roll only Moth. Why, I shall not sleep for thinking of But how will you prevent the family smokyour design? Count Bas. By renewing my addresses to the mother. Moth. And how will the daughter like that, think you? Count Bas. Very well-whilst it covers her own affair: Moth. That's true-it must do-but, as you say, one for t'other, sir; I stick to that if you don't do my niece's business with the son, I'll blow you with the daughter, depend upon't. Count Bas. 'Tis a bet-pay as we go, I tell you, and the five hundred shall be staked in a third hand. Moth. That's honest-But here comes my niece. Shall we let her into the secret? Count Bas. Time enough; may be I may touch upon it. Enter MYRTILLA. Moth. So, niece, are all the rooms done out, and the beds sheeted? Myr. Yes, madam; but Mr Moody tells us, the lady always burns wax in her own chamber, and we have none in the house. Moth. Odso! then I must beg your pardon, Count; this is a busy time, you know. [Exit MRS MOTHERLY. Count Bas. Myrtilla, how dost thou do, child? Myr. As well as a losing gamester can. Count Bas. Why, what have you lost? Myr. What I shall never recover; and, what's worse, you, that have won it, don't seem to be much the better for it. Count Bas. Why, child, dost thou ever sce any body overjoyed for winning a deep stake six months after 'tis over? Myr. Would I had never played for it! Count Bas. Psha! hang these melancholy thoughts! We may be friends still. Myr. Dull ones. Count Bas. Useful ones, perhaps suppose I should help thee to a good husband? Myr. I suppose you'll think any one good enough, that will take me off your hands. Count Bas. What do you think of the young country 'squire, the heir of the family that's coming to lodge here? Myr. How should I know what to think of him? Count Bas. Nay; I only give you the hint, child. It may be worth your while, at least, to look about you-Hark! what bustle's that Enter SIR FRANCIS, SQUIRE RICHARD, and without? Enter MRS MOTHERLY, in haste. MISS JENNY. Sir Fran. Well, Count, I mun say it, this was Moth. Sir, sir! the gentleman's coach is at the koynd, indeed. door; they are all come. Count Bas. What! already? Moth. They are just getting out!-Won't you step and lead in my lady? Do you be in the way, niece; I must run and receive them. [Exit MRS MOTHERLY. Count Bas. And think of what I told you. [Exit COUNT. Myr. Ay, ay; you have left me enough to think of as long as I live-A faithless fellow ! I am sure I have been true to him; and for that only reason he wants to be rid of me. But, while women are weak, men will be rogues; and, for a bane to both their joys and ours, when our vanity indulges them in such innocent favours as make them adore us, we can never be well, till we grant them the very one that puts an end to their devotion-But here comes my aunt and the company. MRS MOTHERLY returns, shewing in LADY WRONGHEAD, led by COUNT BASSET. Moth. If your ladyship pleases to walk into this parlour, madam, only for the present, till your servants have got all your things in. Lady Wrong. Well, dear sir, this is so infinitely obliging- -I protest it gives me pain, though, to turn you out of your lodging thus. Count Bas. No trouble in the least, madam; we single fellows are soon moved. Besides, Mrs Motherly's my old acquaintance, and I could not be her hindrance. Moth. The Count is so well bred, madam, I dare say he would do a great deal more to accommodate your ladyship. Lady Wrong. Oh, dear inadam!-A good, well-bred sort of a woman. [Apart to the COUNT. Count Bas. Oh! madam, she is very much among people of quality: she is seldom without them in her house. Lady Wrong. Are there a good many people of quality in this street, Mrs Motherly? Moth. Now your ladyship is here, madam, I don't believe there is a house without them. Lady Wrang. I am mighty glad of that; for, really, I think people of quality should always live among one another. Count Bas. 'Tis what one would choose, indeed, madam. Lady Wrong. Bless me! but where are the children all this while? Moth. Sir Francis, madam, I believe, is taking care of them. Sir Fran. [Within.] John Moody! stay you by the coach, and see all our things out-Come, children. Moth. Here they are, madam. Count Bas. Sir Francis, give me leave to bid you welcome to London, Sir Fran. Psha! how dost thou do, mon?— Waunds, I'm glad to see thee! A good sort of a house this. Count Bas. Is not that Master Richard? Sir Fran. Ey, ey, that's young Hopeful—Why dost not baw, Dick? Squire Rich. So I do, feyther. Count Bas. Sir, I'm glad to see you-I protest Mrs Jane is grown so, I should not have known her. Sir Fran. Come forward, Jenny. Jenny. Sure, papa! do you think I don't know how to behave myself? Count Bas. If I have permission to approach her, Sir Francis. Jenny. Lord, sir! I'm in such a frightful pickle[Salute. Count Bas. Every dress that's proper must become you, madam-you have been a long journey. Jenny, I hope you will see me in a better tomorrow, sir. [LADY WRONGHEAD whispers MRS MOTHERLY, pointing to MYRTILLA. Moth. Only a niece of mine, madam, that lives with me: she will be proud to give your ladyship any assistance in her power. Lady Wrong. A pretty sort of a young woman -Jenny, you two must be acquainted, Jenny. Oh, mamma, I am never strange in a strange place. [Salutes MYRTIlla. Myr. You do me a great deal of honour, madam-Madam, your ladyship's welcome to London. Jenny. Mamma, I like her prodigiously; she called me my ladyship. Squire Rich. Pray, mother, mayn't I be acquainted with her, too? Lady Wrong. You, you clown! stay till you learn a little more breeding first. Sir Fran. Od's heart, my lady Wronghead! why do you baulk the lad? how should he ever learn breeding, if he docs not put himself forward? Squire Rich. Why, ay, feyther; does mother think 'at I'd be uncivil to her? Myr. Master has so much good-humour, madam, he would soon gain upon any body. [He kisses MYRTILLA, Squire Rich. Lo' you there, mother; an you would but be quiet, she and I should do well enough. Lady Wrong, Why, how now, sirrah! boys must not be so familiar. Squire Rich. Why, an' I know nobody, how the murrain mun I pass my time here in a strange place? Naw, you and I, and sister, forsooth, looks to be a power of um in this tawn- Jenny. Speak for yourself, sir; d'ye think I play at such clownish games? Squire Rich. Why, and you woant, yo' ma' let it aloane; then she and I, mayhap, will have a bawt at all-fours, without you. Sir Fran. Noa, noa, Dick; that won't do, neither; you mun learn to make one at ombre, here, child, Myr. If master pleases, I'll shew it him. Squire Rich. What! the Humber! Hoy-day! why, does our river run to this tawn, feyther? Sir Fran. Pooh! you silly tony! ombre is a geam at cards, that the better sort of people play three together at. Squire Rich. Nay, the moare the merrier, I say; but sister is always so cross-grained Jenny. Lord! this boy is enough to deaf people-and one has really been stuffed up in a coach so long, that- -Pray, madam, could not I get a little powder for my hair? -but Sir Fran. Why, let him go to the devil! no matter an the hawnds had had him a month agoe, -but I wish the coach and horses were got safe to the inn! This is a sharp tawn; we mun look about us here, John; therefore, I would have you go along with Roger, and see that nobody runs away with them, before they get to the stable. J. Moody. Alas-a-day, sir, I believe our awld cattle won't yeasly be run away with to-nightbut howsomdever, we's take the best care we can of um, poor sawls. Sir Fran. Well, well! make haste [MOODY goes out, and returns. J. Moody. Ods flesh! here's measter Monly come to wait upo' your worship! Sir Fran. Wheare is he? J. Moody. Just coming in at threshould. Enter MANLY. Cousin Manly! Sir, I am your very humble servant. Myr. If you please to come along with me, madam. [Exeunt MYRTILLA and JENNY. Squire Rich. What, has sister taken her away, naw! mess, I'll go and have a little game with them. [Exit after them. andLady Wrong. Well, count, I hope you won't so far change your lodgings, but you will come, and be at home here sometimes? Sir Fran. Ay! ay! pr'ythee come and take a bit of mutton with us, naw and tan, when thou'st naught to do. Count Bas. Well, sir Francis, you shall find I'll make but very little ceremony. Sir Fran. Why, ay now, that's hearty! Moth. Will your ladyship please to refresh yourself with a dish of tea, after your fatigue? I think I have pretty good. Lady Wrong. If you please, Mrs Motherly; but I believe we had best have it above stairs. Moth. Very well, madam; it shall be ready immediately. [Exit MRS MOTHERLY. Lady Wrong. Won't you walk up, sir? Sir Fran. Moody! Count Bas, Shan't we stay for Sir Francis, madam! Lady Wrong, Lard! don't mind him he will come, if he likes it. Sir Fran. Ay! ay! ne'er heed me- -I have things to look after. [Exeunt LADY WRONGHEAD and COUNT Enter JOHN MOODY. J. Moody. Did your worship want muh? Sir Fran. Ay; is the coach cleared, and all our things in? Man. I heard you were come, sir Francis— Sir Fran. Odsheart! this was kindly done of you, naw. Man. I wish you may think it so, cousin! for I confess, I should have been better pleased to have seen you in any other place. Sir Fran. How soa, sir? Man. Nay, 'tis for your own sake; I am not concerned. Sir Fran. Look you, cousin; thof I know you wish me well, yet I don't question I shall give you such weighty reasons for what I have done, that you will say, sir, this is the wisest journey that ever I made in my life. Man. I think it ought to be, cousin; for I believe you will find it the most expensive oneyour election did not cost you a trifle, I suppose. Sir Fran. Why, ay! it's true! That-that did lick a little; but if a man's wise, (and I han't fawnd yet that I'm a fool) there are ways, cousin, to lick one's self whole again. Man. Nay, if you have that secret Sir Fran. Don't you be fearful, cousin—you'll find that I know something. Man. If it be any thing for your good, I should be glad to know it, too. Sir Fran. In short, then, I have a friend in corner, that has let me a little into what's what, Westminster-that's one thing. at Man. Very well! but what good is that to do J. Moody. Aw but a few band-boxes, and the nook that's left o' the goose poy-But, a plague on him, th' monkey has gin us the slip, I think-tage I suppose he's goon to see his relations; for here Sir Fran. Why, ay! there's it, naw! you!! |