Enter MISS HARDCASTLE. When good. A school would be his death. he comes to be a little stronger, who knows what a year or two's Latin may do for him? Hard. Latin for him! A cat and fiddle! No, no, the ale-house and the stable are the only schools he'll ever go to! Hard. Blessings on my pretty innocence! Dressed out as usual, my Kate! Goodness! What a quantity of superfluous silk hast thou got about thee, girl! I could never teach the fools of this age, that the indigent world could be clothed out of the trimmings of the vain. Miss Hard. You know our agreement, sir. Mrs. Hard. Well, we must not snub the poor boy now, for I believe we shan't have him long among us. Anybody that looks in his face may see he's consumptive. Hard. Ay, if growing too fat be one of You allow me the morning to receive and the symptoms. pay visits, and to dress in my own manner; and in the evening, I put on my housewife's Mrs. Hard. He coughs sometimes. Hard. Yes, when his liquor goes the dress, to please you. wrong way. Hard. Well, remember, I insist on the Mrs. Hard. I'm actually afraid of his terms of our agreement; and, by-the-bye, I lungs. Hard. And truly, so am I; for he sometimes whoops like a speaking-trumpet[TONY hallooing behind the scenes]-O, there he goes-A very consumptive figure, truly! Enter TONY, crossing the stage. Mrs. Hard. Tony, where are you going, my charmer? Won't you give papa and I a little of your company, lovey? Tony. I'm in haste, mother, I cannot stay. Mrs. Hard. You shan't venture out this raw evening, my dear: you look most shockingly. Tony. I can't stay, I tell you. The Three Pigeons expects me down every moment. There's some fun going forward. believe I shall have occasion to try your obedience this very evening. Miss Hard. I protest, sir, I don't comprehend your meaning. Hard. Then, to be plain with you, Kate, I expect the young gentleman I have chosen to be your husband from town this very day. I have his father's letter, in which he informs me his son is set out, and that he intends to follow himself shortly after. Miss Hard. Indeed! I wish I had known something of this before. Bless me, how shall I behave? It's a thousand to one I shan't like him; our meeting will be so formal, and so like a thing of business, that I shall find no room for friendship or esteem. Hard. Depend upon it, child, I'll never control your choice; but Mr. Marlow, whom Hard. Ay; the ale-house, the old place: I have pitched upon, is the son of my old I thought so. Mrs. Hard. A low, paltry set of fellows. Tony. Not so low, neither. There's Dick Muggins the exciseman, Jack Slang the horse doctor, Little Aminadab that grinds the music box, and Tom Twist that spins the pewter platter. Mrs. Hard. Pray, my dear, disappoint them for one night, at least. Tony. As for disappointing them, I should not so much mind; but I can't abide to disappoint myself! Mrs. Hard. [Detaining him]. You shan't go. I. Tony. I will, I tell you. Mrs. Hard. I say you shan't. Tony. We'll see which is strongest, you or [Exit hauling her out. HARDCASTLE solus. Hard. Ay, there goes a pair that only spoil each other. But is not the whole age in a combination to drive sense and discretion out of doors? There's my pretty darling, Kate; the fashions of the times have almost infected her too. By living a year or two in town, she is as fond of gauze and French frippery as the best of them. friend, Sir Charles Marlow, of whom you have heard me talk so often. The young gentleman has been bred a scholar, and is designed for an employment in the service of his country. I am told he's a man of an excellent understanding. Miss Hard. Is he? Hard. Very generous. Miss Hard. I believe I shall like him. Miss Hard. I am sure I shall like him. Miss Hard. My dear papa, say no more [kissing his hand], he's mine, I'll have him! Hard. And, to crown all, Kate, he's one of the most bashful and reserved young fellows in all the world. Miss Hard. Eh! you have frozen me to death again. That word reserved has undone all the rest of his accomplishments. A reserved lover, it is said, always makes a suspicious husband. Hard. On the contrary, modesty seldom resides in a breast that is not enriched with nobler virtues. It was the very feature in his character that first struck me. Miss Hard. He must have more striking features to catch me, I promise you. However, if he be so young, so handsome, and so everything, as you mention, I believe he'll but trust to occurrences for success. do still. I think I'll have him. Hard. Ay, Kate, but there is still an obstacle. It is more than an even wager, he may not have you. Miss Hard. My dear papa, why will you mortify one so?-Well, if he refuses, instead of breaking my heart at his indifference, I'll only break my glass for its flattery. Set my cap to some newer fashion, and look out for some less difficult admirer. Hard. Bravely resolved! In the meantime I'll go prepare the servants for his reception; as we seldom see company, they want as much training as a company of recruits the first day's muster. [Exit. Miss Hard. The son of Sir Charles Marlow. Miss Neville. As I live, the most intimate friend of Mr. Hastings, my admirer. They are never asunder. I believe you must have seen him when we lived in town. Miss Hard. Never. Miss Neville. He's a very singular character, I assure you. Among women of reputation and virtue, he is the modestest man alive; but his acquaintance give him a very different character among creatures of another stamp: you understand me? Miss Hard. An odd character, indeed! I shall never be able to manage him. What shall I do? Pshaw, think no more of him, But how goes on your own affair, my dear? Has my mother been courting you for my brother Tony, as usual? Miss Neville. I have just come from one of our agreeable tête-à-têtes. She has been saying a hundred tender things, and setting off her pretty monster as the very pink of perfection. Miss Hard. And her partiality is such, that she actually thinks him so. A fortune like yours is no small temptation. Besides, as she has the sole management of it, I'm not surprised to see her unwilling to let it go out of the family. Miss Neville. A fortune like mine, which chiefly consists in jewels, is no such mighty temptation. But, at any rate, if my dear Hastings be but constant, I make no doubt to be too hard for her at last. However, I let her suppose that I am in love with her son, and she never once dreams that my affections are fixed upon another. Miss Hard. My good brother holds out stoutly. I could almost love him for hating you so. Miss Neville. It is a good-natured creature at bottom, and I'm sure would wish to see me married to anybody but himself. But my aunt's bell rings for our afternoon's walk round the improvements. Allons. Courage is necessary, as our affairs are critical. Miss Hard. Would it were bed-time and all were well. [Exeunt. SCENE II AN ALE-HOUSE ROOM. Several shabby fellows, with punch and tobacco. TONY at the head of the table, a little higher than the rest: a mallet in his hand. Omnes. Hurrea, hurrea, hurrea, bravo! First Fellow. Now, gentlemen, silence for a song. The 'Squire is going to knock himself down for a song. Omnes. Ay, a song, a song. Tony. Then I'll sing you, gentlemen, a song I made upon this ale-house, the Three Pigeons. SONG. Let school-masters puzzle their brain, With grammar, and nonsense, and learning; Gives genus a better discerning, Their Lethes, their Styxes, and Stygians; Toroddle, toroddle, toroll! Third Fellow. O damn anything that's low, I cannot bear it! Fourth Fellow. The genteel thing is the genteel thing at any time. If so be that a gentleman bees in a concatenation accordingly.. Third Fellow. I like the maxum of it, Master Muggins. What, though I am obligated to dance a bear, a man may be a gentleman for all that. May this be my poison if my bear ever dances but to the very genteelest of tunes. Water Parted, or the minuet in Ariadne. Second Fellow. What a pity it is the 'Squire is not come to his own. It would be well for all the publicans within ten miles round of him. Tony. Ecod, and So it would, Master Slang. I'd then show what it was to keep choice of company. Second Fellow. O, he takes after his own father for that. To be sure, old 'Squire Lumpkin was the finest gentleman I ever set my eyes on. For winding the straight horn, or beating a thicket for a hare, or a wench, he never had his fellow. It was a saying in the place, that he kept the best horses, dogs, and girls in the whole county. Tony. Ecod, and when I'm of age I'll be no bastard, I promise you. I have been thinking of Bet Bouncer and the miller's grey mare to begin with. But come, my boys, drink about and be merry, for you pay no reckoning. Well, Stingo, what's the matter? Enter LANDLORD. Landlord. There be two gentlemen in a postchaise at the door. They have lost their way upo' the forest; and they are talking something about Mr. Hardcastle. Tony. As sure as can be, one of them must be the gentleman that's coming down to court my sister. Do they seem to be Londoners? Landlord. I believe they may. They look woundily like Frenchmen. Tony. Then desire them to step this way, and I'll set them right in a twinkling. [Exit LANDLORD.] Gentlemen, as they mayn't be good enough company for you, step down for a moment, and I'll be with you in the squeezing of a lemon. [Exeunt Mob. old-fashioned, whimsical fellow with an ugly face, a daughter, and a pretty son? Hastings. We have not seen the gentleman, but he has the family you mention. a Tony. The daughter, a tall, trapesing, trolloping, talkative maypole-The son, pretty, well-bred, agreeable youth, that everybody is fond of! Marlow. Our information differs in this. The daughter is said to be well-bred and beautiful; the son, an awkward booby, reared up and spoiled at his mother's apron-string. Tony. He-he-hem-then, gentlemen, all I have to tell you is, that you won't reach Mr. Hardcastle's house this night, I believe. Hastings. Unfortunate! Tony. It's a damned long, dark, boggy, dirty, dangerous way. Stingo, tell the gentlemen the way to Mr. Hardcastle's. [Winking upon the LANDLORD.] Mr. Hardcastle's of Quagmire Marsh, you understand me. Landlord. Master Hardcastle's! Lack-adaisy, my masters, you're come a deadly deal wrong! When you came to the bottom of the hill, you should have crossed down Squash Lane. Marlow. Cross down Squash Lane! Landlord. Then you were to keep straight forward, until you came to four roads. Marlow. Come to where four roads meet! Tony. Ay, but you must be sure to take only one of them. Marlow. O, sir, you're facetious! Tony. Then, keeping to the right, you are to go sideways till you come upon Crackskull Common: there you must look sharp for the track of the wheel, and go forward, till you come to Farmer Murrain's barn. Coming to the farmer's barn, you are to turn to the right, and then to the left, and then to the right about again, till you find out the old mill Marlow. Zounds, man! we could as soon find out the longitude! Hastings. What's to be done, Marlow? Marlow. This house promises but a poor reception, though, perhaps, the landlord can accommodate us. Landlord. Alack, master, we have but one spare bed in the whole house. Tony. And to my knowledge, that's taken up by three lodgers already. [After a pause, in which the rest seem disconcerted.] I have hit it. Don't you think, Stingo, our landlady could accommodate the gentlemen by the fire-side, with three chairs and a bolster ? Hastings. I hate sleeping by the fire-side. Marlow. And I detest your three chairs and a bolster. Hastings. O ho! so we have escaped an adventure for this night, however. Landlord [apart to TONY]. Sure, you ben't sending 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 straight forward, till you come to a large old house by the roadside. You'll see a pair of large horns over the door. That's the sign. Drive up the yard, and call stoutly about you. Hastings. Sir, we are obliged to you. The servants can'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 persuade you that his mother was an alderman, and his aunt a justice of peace! Landlord. A troublesome old blade, to be sure; but 'a keeps as good wines and beds as any in the whole country. Marlow. Well, if he supplies us with these, we shall want no further connection. We are to turn to the right, did you say? Tony. No, no; straight forward. I'll just step myself, and show you a piece of the way. [To the LANDLORD.] Mum. Landlord. Ah, bless your heart, for a sweet, pleasant-damned mischievous son of a whore. [Exeunt. Tony. You do, do you?-then let me seewhat-if you go on a mile further, to the Buck's Head; the old Buck's Head on the hill, one of the best inns in the whole county? matter. Diggory. Ay, mind how I hold them. I Second Servant. My pleace is to be nolearned to hold my hands this way, when I where at all; and so I'ze go about my busiwas upon drill for the militia. And So being upon drill so talkative, Dig ness! [Exeunt Servants, running about as f frighted, different ways. Hard. You must not be gory. You must be all attention to the guests. You must hear us talk, and not Enter Servant with candles, showing in MAR think of talking; you must see us drink, and LOW and HASTINGS. not think of drinking; you must see us eat, and not think of eating. Diggory. By the laws, your worship, that's parfectly unpossible. Whenever Diggory sees yeating going forward, ecod, he's always wishing for a mouthful himself. Hard. Blockhead! Is not a bellyful in the kitchen as good as a bellyful in the parlor? Stay your stomach with that reflection. Diggory. Ecod, I thank your worship, I'll make a shift to stay my stomach with a slice of cold beef in the pantry. Hard. Diggory, you are too talkative. Then, if I happen to say a good thing, or tell a good story at table, you must not all burst out a-laughing, as if you made part of the company. Diggory. Then, ecod, your worship must not tell the story of Ould Grouse in the gunroom: I can't help laughing at that-he! he he!-for the soul of me! We have laughed at that these twenty years-ha! ha! ha! Hard. Ha! ha! ha! The story is a good one. Well, honest Diggory, you may laugh at that-but still remember to be attentive. Suppose one of the company should call for a glass of wine, how will you behave? A glass of wine, sir, if you please [to DIGGORY] -Eh, why don't you move? Diggory. Ecod, your worship, I never have courage till I see the eatables and drinkables brought upo' the table, and then I'm as bauld as a lion. Hard. What, will nobody move? First Servant. I'm not to leave this pleace. Second Servant. I'm sure it's no pleace of mine. Third Servant. Nor mine, for sartain. Diggory. Wauns, and I'm sure it canna be mine. Hard. You numskulls! and so while, like your betters, you are quarrelling for places, the guests must be starved. O, you dunces! I find I must begin all over again.-But don't I hear a coach drive into the yard? To your posts, you blockheads! I'll go in the meantime and give my old friend's son a hearty reception at the gate. [Exit HARDCASTLE, Diggory. By the elevens, my pleace is gone quite out of my head. Servant. Welcome, gentlemen, very welcome. This way. Hastings. 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. Marlow. 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. Hastings. As you say, we passengers are to be taxed to pay all these fineries. I have often seen a good sideboard, or a marble chimney-piece, though not actually put in the bill, inflame a reckoning confoundedly. Marlow. 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. Hastings. 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 assurance. Marlow. 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 woman-except my mother-But among females of another class, you know— Hastings. Ay, among them you are impudent enough of all conscience! Marlow. They are of us, you know. Hastings. 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. Marlow. Why, man, that's because I de 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 Roger. I know that my pleace is to be counterfeit impudence. everywhere! Hastings. If you could but say half the First Servant. Where the devil is mine? fine things to them that I have heard you |