Miss H. Give me that hour then, and I hope to satisfy you. Hard. Well, an hour let it be then. But I'll have no trifling with your father. All fair and open, do you mind me. [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I-An old-fashioned House. Enter MARLOW, followed by a SERVANT. Mar. I wonder what Hastings could mean by sending me so valuable a thing as a casket to keep for him, when he knows the only place I have is the seat of a post-coach at an inn-door. Have you deposited the casket with the landlady, as I ordered you? Have you put it into her own hands? Serv. Yes, your honour. Mar. She said she'd keep it safe, did she? Serv. Yes, she said she'd keep it safe enough; she asked me how I came by it? and she said she had a great mind to make me give an account of myself. [Exit. Mar. Ha, ha, ha! They're safe, however. What an unaccountable set of beings have we got amongst! This little bar-maid, though, runs in my head most strangely, and drives out the absurdities of all the rest of the family. She's mine, she must be mine, or I'm greatly mistaken. Enter HASTINGS. Hast. Bless me! I quite forgot to tell her that I intended to prepare at the bottom of the garden. Marlow here, and in spirits too! Mar. Give me joy, George! Crown me, shadow me 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 honour's modesty been crowned with now, that it grows so insolent upon us? Mar. Didn't you see the tempting, brisk, lovely, 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 so sure, so very sure of her? Mar. Why, man, she talked of showing me ner work above stairs, and I'm to improve the pattern. Hast. But how can you, Charles, go about to rob a woman of her honour? Mar. Pshaw! pshaw! We all know the honour of the bar-maid of an inn. I don't intend to rob her, take my word for it; there's nothing in this house I sha'n't honestly pay for. Hast. I believe the girl has virtue. Hast. To the landlady! Mur. 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. He must not see my uneasiness. [Aside 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. He, he, he' They're safe, however. Mar. As a guinea in a miser's purse. Hast. So now all hopes of fortune are at an end, and we must set off without it. [Aside.] Well, Charles, I'll leave you to your meditations on the pretty bar-maid, and, he, he, he! may you be as successful for yourself as you have been for me. [Erit. Mar. Thank ye, George; 1 ask no more. Ha, ha, ha! Enter HARDCASTLE. 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. [Aside.] Mr. Marlow, your servant, I'm your humble servant. [Boring low. Mar. Sir, your humble servant.-What 's to be the wonder now? [Aside. 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 wherever 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 order'd them not to spare the cellar; I did, I assure you. [To the side Scene.} Here, let one of my servants come up. [To HARD.] 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. 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 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? It's 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 pre-good of the house? cautions for you than you did for yourselfhave Hast. What! -I Hard. I begin to lose my patience. [Aside. Jer. Please your honour, liberty and Fleet street for ever, though I'm but a servant, I'm að fore supper, Sir, damme! Good liquor will si Mar. I have sent it to the landlady to keep for good as another man; I'll drink for no man be you. upon a good supper, but a good supper will not sit | I believe he begins to find out his mistake, but upon-hiccup upon my conscience, Sir. Mar. You see, my old friend, the fellow is as drunk as he can possibly be. I don't know what You'd have more, unless you'd have the poor devil soused in a beer barrel. Hard. Zounds! he'll drive me distracted if I contain myself any longer. [Aside.] 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 o'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 nine, Sir; this house is mine, and I command you to leave it directly. Mar. Ha, ha, ha! A puddle in a storm. I sha'nt stir a step, I assure you. [In a serious tone] This your house, fellow! It's my house. This is my house. Meanwhile 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 I ever 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's a firescreen, and a pair of bellows, perhaps you may take a fancy to them? Mar. Bring me your bill, Sir, bring me your bill, and let's make no more words about it. Hard. 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 bright, brazen warmingpan, that you may see your own brazen 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, let's hear no more on't. and 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. Mar. How's this? sure I have not mistaken the house! Every thing 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. Whither so fast, child? a word with you. Enter MISS HARDCASTLE. it's too soon quite to undeceive him. [Aside. Miss H. A relation of the family, Sir. 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! O law-What brought that in your head? One of the best families in the county to keep an inn. Ha, ha, ha! Old Mr. Hardcastle's house an inn! Mar. Hardcastle's house! Is this house Mr. Hardcastle's house, child? Miss H. Ay, Sir, whose else should it be? Mar. So then all's out, and I have been damnably imposed on. O, confound my stupid head, shall be laughed at over the whole town. I shall be stuck up in caricatura in all the print shops. The Dullissimo Maccaroni. To mistake this house of all others for an inn, and my father's old friend for an inn-keeper. 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 am sure there's nothing in my behaviour to put me on 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 every thing 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 am sure I should be sorry to affront any gentleman who has been so polite, and said so many civil things to me. I am sure I should be sorry [Pretending to cry.] if he left the family upon my account. I am sure I should be sorry people said any thing amiss, since I have no fortune but my character. Mar. By Heaven, she weeps. This is the first mark of tenderness I ever had from a modest woman, and it touches me. [Aside. Miss H. I am sure my family is as good as Miss Hardcastle's, and though I am poor, that is 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 pounds, I would give it all to. Mar. This simplicity bewitches me, so that if I stay I am undone. I must make one bold effort, and leave her. [Aside.] Excuse me, my lovely girl, you are the only part of the family I leave with reluctance. But to be plain with you, the difference of our birth, fortune, and education make an honourable connexion impossible; and I can never harbour a thought of bringing ruin upon one, whose only fault was being too lovely. [Exit. Miss H. I never knew half his merit till now. He shall not go, if I have power or art to detain him. I will still preserve the Miss H. Let it be short then; I'm in a hurry.- character in which I stooped to conquer, bu will undeceive my papa, who perhaps may laugh Enter TONY and MISS NEVILLE. lieves it was all a mistake of the servants. Miss N. But, my dear cousin, sure you wont forsake us in this distress. If she in the least suspects that I am going off, I shall certainly be locked up, or sent to my aunt Pedigree's, which is ten times worse. Tony To be sure, aunts of all kinds are damned bad things. But what can I do? I have got you a pair of horses that will fly like Whistlejacket, and I am sure you cannot say but I have courted you nicely before her face. Here she comes; we must court a bit or two more for fear she should suspect us. [Seem to fondle. sure. Enter MRS. HARDCASTLE. Mrs. H. Well, I was greatly fluttered, to be But my son tells me it was all a mistake of the servants. I sha'n't be easy, however, till they are fairly married, and then let her keep her own fortune. But what do I see? Fondling to gether, as I am alive. I never saw Tony so sprightly before. Ah! have I caught you, my pretty doves! What, billing, exchanging stolen glances, and broken murmurs? Ah! Tony. As for murmurs, mother, we grumble a little now and then, to be sure. But there's no love lost between us. Mrs. H. A mere sprinkling, Tony, upon the flame, only to make it burn brighter? Miss N. Cousin Tony promises to give us more of his company at home. Indeed, he sha'n't leave us any more. It wont leave us, cousin Tony, will it? Tony. O! it's a pretty creature. No, I'd sooner leave my horse in a pond, than leave you when you smile upon one so. Your laugh makes you so becoming. Miss N. Agreeable cousin! who can help admiring that natural humour, that pleasant, broad, red, thoughtless-[Patting his cheek.] Ah! it's a bold face. Mrs. H. Pretty innocence ! Tony. I am sure I always loved cousin Con's hazel eyes, and her pretty long fingers, that she twists this way and that over the harpsicholls, like a parcel of bobbins. Tony. I could wish to know, though. [Turning the letter, and gazing on it Miss N. [Aside.] Undone, undone. Å letter to him from Hastings. I know the hand. If my aunt sees it, we are ruined for ever. I'll keep her employed a little, if I can. [To MRS. HARDCASTLE.] But I have not told you, Madam, of my cousin's smart answer just now to Mr. Marlow. We so laughed-You must know, Madam this way a little, for he must not hear us. [They confer. Tony. [Still gazing.] A damned cramped piece of penmanship as ever I saw in my life. I can read your print-hand very well. But here there are such handles, and shanks, and dashes, that one can scarce tell the head from the tail. [To AN THONY LUMPKIN, Esq.] It's very odd, I can read the outside of my letters, where my own name is, plain enough. But when I come to open it, it is all-buz. That's hard, very hard: for the inside of the letter is always the cream of the correspondence. Mrs. H. Ha ha ha! Very well, very well And so my so was too hard for the philosopher. Miss N. Yes, Madam; but you must hear the rest, Madam. A little more this way, or he may hear us. You'll hear how he puzzled him again. Mrs. H. He seems strangely puzzled now him self, methinks. Tony. [Still gazing.] A damned up and down hand, as if it was disguised in liquor. [Reading.] Dear Sir, Ay, that's that. Then there's an M and a T, and an S, but whether the next be an izzard or an R, confound me, I cannot tell. Mrs. H. What's that, my dear? Can I give you any assistance? Miss N. Pray, aunt, let me read it. Nobody reads a cramp hand better than I. [Twitching the letter from her.] Do you know who it is from? Tony. Can't tell, except from Dick Ginger, the feeder. Miss N. Ay, so it is [Pretending to read.] Dear 'squire, hoping that you're in health, as I am at this present. The gentlemen of the Shake-bag club has cut the gentlemen of the Goose-green quite out of feather. The odds-um-old battle-umlong fighting-um-here, here, it's all about cocks, and fighting; it's of no consequence, here, put it up, put it up. [Thrusting the crumpled letter upon him. Tony. But I tell you, Miss, it's of all the consequence in the world. I would not lose the rest of it for a guinea. Here, mother, do you make it Of no consequence! out. Mrs. H. Ah, he would charm a bird from the tree. I was never so happy before. My boy takes [Giving Mrs. HARDCASTLE the letter. after his father, poor Mr. Lumpkin, exactly. The Mrs. H. How's this? [Reads. jewels, my dear Con, shall be yours incontinently. You shall have them. Isn't he a sweet boy, my Dear 'Squire,-I'm now waiting for Miss Nedear? You shall be married to-morrow, and we'llville, with a post chaise and pair, at the bottom of put off the rest of his education, like Dr. Drowsy's sermons, to a fitter opportunity. Enter DIGGORY. Digg. Where's the 'squire? I have got a letter for your worship. Tony. Give it to my mamma. She reads all ny letters first Digg. I had orders to deliver it into your own uands. the garden; but I find my horses yet unable to perform the journey. I expect you'll assist me with a pair of fresh horses, as you promised. Dispatch is necessary, as the hag ay, the hag, Yours, your mother, will otherwise suspect us. HASTINGS Grant me patience. I shall run distracted. My rage chokes me. Miss N. I hope, Madam, you'll suspend your resentment for a few moments, and not impute to me any impertinence, or sinister design that be Tony. Who does it come from? Mrs. H. [Courtesying very low.] Fine spoken, Madam, you are most miraculously polite and engaging, and quite the very pink of courtesy and circumspection, Madam. [Changing her tone.] And you, you great ill-fashioned oaf, with scarce sense enough to keep your mouth shut, were you too joined against me? But I'll defeat all your plots in a moment. As for you, Madam, since you have got a pair of fresh horses ready, it would be cruel to disappoint them. So, if you please, instead of running away with your spark, prepare, this very moment, to run off with me. Your old aunt Pedigree will keep you secure, I'll warrant me. You too, Sir, may mount your horse, and guard us upon the way. Here, Thomas, Roger, Diggory; I'll show you, that I wish you better than you do yourselves. [Exit. Miss N. So now I am completely ruined. Tony. Ay, that's a sure thing. Miss N. What better could be expected from being connected with such a stupid fool, and after .ll the nods and signs I made him? Tony. By the laws, Miss, it was your own deverness, and not my stupidity, that did your usiness. You were so nice and so busy with your Shake-bags and Goose-greens, that I thought you could never be making believe. Enter HASTINGS. Hast. So, Sir, I find by my servant, that you have shown my letter, and betrayed us. Was this well done, young gentleman? Tony. Here's another. Ask Miss there who betrayed you. Ecod, it was her doing, not mine. Enter MARLOW. you. lies before me, I'm sure it would convert your resentment into pity. Mrs. H. [Within.] Miss Neville. Constance why, Constance, I say. Miss N. I'm coming. Well, constancy. Remember, constancy is the word. [Exit. Hast. My heart, how can I support this? To be so near happiness, and such happiness! Mar. [To TONY.] You see now, young gentleman, the effects of your folly. What might be amusement to you, is here disappointment, and even distress. Tony. [From a reverie.] Ecod, I have hit it. It's here. Your hands. Yours and yours, my poor Sulky. Meet me two hours hence at the bottom of the garden; and if you don't find Tony Lumpkin a more good natur'd fellow than you thought for, I'll give you leave to take my best horse, and Bet Bouncer into the bargain. Come along. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I.-An old-fashioned House. in me above a common innkeeper, too. uncommon innkeeper, ha, ha, ha! Hard. Well, I'm in too good spirits to think of any thing but joy. Yes, my dear friend, this union of our families will make our personal friendships hereditary; and though my daughter's ill-fortune is but small Mar. So, I have been finely used here among Rendered contemptible, driven into manners, despised, insulted, laughed at. Tony. Here's another. We shall have old Bedlam broke loose presently. Miss N. And there, Sir, is the gentleman to whom we all owe every obligation. Mar. What can I say to him, a mere booby, an idiot, whose ignorance and age are a protection. Hast. A poor, contemptible booby, that would but disgrace correction. Miss N. Yet with cunning and malice enough to make himself merry with our embarrassments. Hast. An insensible cub. Mar. Replete with tricks and mischief. Tony. Baw! damme, but I'll fight you both, one after the other-with baskets. Mar. As for him, he's below resentment. But your conduct, Mr. Hastings, requires an explanation. You knew of my mistakes, yet would not undeceive me. Hast. Tortured as I am with my own disappointments, is this a time for explanations? It is not friendly, Mr. Marlow. Mar. But, Sir Miss N. Mr. Marlow, we never kept on your mistake, till it was too late to undeceive you. Be pacified. Sir C. Why, Dick, will you talk of fortune to me? My son is possessed of more than a compe tence already, and can want nothing but a good, virtuous girl to share his happiness, and increase it. If they like each other, as you say they do Hard. If, man. I tell you they do like each other. My daughter as good as told me so. Sir C. But girls are apt to flatter themselves, you know. Hard. I saw him grasp her hand in the warmest manner myself; and here he comes to put you out of your ifs, I warrant him. Enter MARLOW. Mar. I come, Sir, once more, to ask pardon for my strange conduct. I can scarce reflect on my insolence without confusion. Hard. Tut, boy, a trifle. You take it too gravely. An hour or two's laughing with my daughter will set all to rights again.—She'll never like you the worse for it. Mar. Sir, I shall be always proud of her approbation. Hard. Approbation is but a cold word, Mr. Marlow; if I am not deceived, you have something more than approbation thereabouts. You take me? Mar. Really, Sir, I have not that happiness. Hard. Come, boy, I'm an old fellow, and know what's what, as well as you that are younger. I know what has passed between you; but mum. Mar. Sure, Sir, nothing has passed between us but the most profound respect on my side, and the most distant reserve on hers. You don't | behind that screen, you shall hear him declare his think, Sir, that my impudence has been passed passion to me in person. upon all the rest of the family. Hard. Impudence! No, I don't say that Not quite impudence.-Girls like to be played with, and rumpled too sometimes. But she has told no tales, I assure you. Mar. May I die, Sir, if I everHard. I tell you, she don't dislike you; and as I'm sure you like her, Mar. Dear Sir, I protest, Sir Hard. I see no reason why you should not be joined as fast as the parson can tie you. Mar. But why wont you hear me? By all that's just and true, I never gave Miss Hardcastle the slightest mark of my attachment, or even the most distant hint to suspect me of affection. We had but one interview, and that was formal, modest, and uninteresting. Hard. This fellow's formal, modest impudence is beyond bearing. [Aside. Sir C. And you never grasp'd her hand, or made any protestations? Mar. As Heaven is my witness, I came down in obedience to your commands. I saw the lady without emotion, and parted without reluctance. I hope you'll exact no further proofs of my duty, nor prevent me from leaving a house in which I suffer so many mortifications. [Exit. Sir C. I'm astonished at the air of sincerity with which he parted. Hard. And I'm astonished ar the deliberate intrepidity of his assurance. Sir C. I dare pledge my life and honour upon his truth. Hard. Here comes my daughter, and I would stake my happiness upon her veracity. Enter MISS HARDCASTLE. Kate; come hither, child. Answer me sincerely, and without reserve; has Mr. Marlow made you any professions of love and affection? Miss H. The question is very abrupt, Sir: but since you require unreserved sincerity, I think he has. Hard. [To SIR C.] You see. Sir C. Agreed. And if I find him what you describe, all my happiness in him must have an end. [Erit. Miss H. And if you don't find him what I describe I fear my happiness must never have a beginning. [Eari. SCENE II.—The back of a Garden. Enter HASTINGS. Hast. What an idiot am I, to wait here for a fellow, who probably takes delight in mortifying me. He never intended to be punctual, and I'll wait no longer. What do I see? It is he, and perhaps with news of my Constance. Enter TONY, booted and spattered. My honest 'squire! I now find you a man of your word. This looks like friendship. Tony. Ay, I'm your friend, and the best friend you have in the world, if you knew but all. This riding, by night, by the by, is cursedly tiresome, It has shook me worse than the basket of a stage coach. Hast. But how? Where did you leave your fellow travellers? Are they in safety? Are they housed ? Tony. Five and twenty miles in two hours and a half, is no such bad driving. The poor beasts have smoked for it. Rabbit me, but I'd rather ride forty miles after a fox, than ten with such varment. Hast. Well, but where have you left the ladies? I die with impatience. Tony. Left them! Why, where should I leave them, but where I found them? Sir C. And pray, Madam, have you and my taste of son had more than one interview? Miss H. Yes, Sir, several. Hard. [To SIR C.] You see. Sir C. But did he profess any attachment? Miss H. A lasting one. Sir C. Did he talk of love? Miss H. Much, Sir. Sir C. Amazing! and all this formally? Hard. Now, my friend, I hope you are satisfied. Sir C. And how did he behave, Madam? Miss H. As most professed admirers do.Said some civil things of my face, talked much of his want of merit, and the greatness of mine: mentioned his heart, gave a short tragedy speech, and ended with pretended rapture. Sir C. Now I'm perfectly convinced, indeed. I know his conversation among women to be modest and submissive. This forward, canting, ranting manner by no means describes him, and I'm confident he never sat for that picture. Hast. Ha, ha, ha! I understand; you took them in a round, while they supposed themselves going forward. And so you have at last brought them home again. Tony. You shall hear. I first took them down Feather-bed-lane, where we stuck fast in the mud -I then rattled them crack over the stones of Upand-down hill-I then introduced them to the gibbet on Heavy-tree-heath-and from that with a circumbendibus, I fairly lodged them in the horsepond at the bottom of the garden. Hast. But no accident, I hope. Tony. No, no. Only mother is confoundedly frightened. She thinks herself forty miles off She's sick of the journey, and the cattle can scarce crawl. So, if your own horses be ready, you may whip off with cousin, and I'll be bound that no soul here can budge a foot to follow you. Hast. My dear friend, how can I be grateful. Tony. Ay, now it 's dear friend, noble 'squire. Just now, it was all idiot, cub, and run me through the guts. Damn your way of fightMiss H Then what, Sir, if I should convince ing, I say. After we take a knock in this part you to your face of my sincerity? If you and my of the country, we shake hands and be friends. papa, in about half an hour, will place yourselves | But if you had run me through the guts, then 1 |