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Sir Charles Marlow, of whom you have heard me | happened among the canary birds, or the gold talk so often. The young gentleman has been fishes. Has your brother or the cat been medbred a scholar, and is designed for an employ-dling? Or has the last novel been too moving?

ment 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.

Hard. Young and brave.

Miss Hard. I'm sure I shall like him.

Hard. And very handsome.

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 every thing, as you mention, I believe he'll do still. I think I'll have him.

Hard. Ay, Kate, but there is still an obstacle. It's 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.

muster.

Hard. Bravely resolved! In the mean time, 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 [Exit. Miss Hard. Lud! this news of papa's puts me all in a flutter. Young, handsome! these he put last; but I put them foremost. Sensible, goodnatured; I like all that. But then reserved, and sheepish! that's much against him. Yet can't he be cured of his timidity, by being taught to be proud of his wife? Yes, and can't I-But I vow I'm disposing of the husband, before 1 have secured the lover.

Enter MISS NEVILLE.

I'm glad you're come, Neville, my dear. Tell me, Constance, how do I look this evening! Is there any thing whimsical about me? Is it one of my well looking days, child? Am I in face to day?

Miss Nev. Perfectly, my dear. Yet now I look again--bless me!-sure no accident has

Miss Hard. No; nothing of all this. I have been threatened-I can scarce get it out-I have been threatened-with a lover.

Miss Nev. And his name

Miss Hard. Is Marlow.
Miss Nev. Indeed!

Miss Hard. The son of sir Charles Marlow.

Miss Nev. 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 Nev. 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 trust to occurrences for success. But how goes on your own affair, my dear? has my mother been courting you for my brother Tony, as usual?

Miss Nev. I have just come from one of our agreeable tete-a-tetes. 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 Nev. 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 Nev. It is a good natured creature at bottom, and I'm sure would wish to see me married to any body 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 alehouse 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! 1st Fel. Now, gentlemen, silence for a song.

The 'Squire is going to knock himself down for a | winding the streight horn, or beating a thicket

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Let school-masters puzzle their brain,

With grammar, and nonsense, and learning;

Good liquor, I stoutly maintain,

Gives Genus a better discerning.
Let them brag of their Heathenish Gods,
Their Lethes, their Styxes, and Stygians:
Their Quis, and their Quæs, and their Quods,
They're all but a parcel of Pigeons.

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 wh county.

Tony. Ecod, and when I'm of age, I'll be no bastard, I promise you. I have been thinking of Bett Bouncer and the miller's grey mare to be gin with. But come, my boys, drink about and be merry, for you pay no reckoning. Well Stingo, what's the matter?

Enter Landlord.

Land. There be two gentlemen in a postchaise at the door. They have lost their way

Toroddle, toroddle, toroll! upon the forest; and they are talking something about Mr Hardcastle.

When Methodist preachers come down,
A preaching that drinking is sinful,
I'll wager the rascals a crown,

They always preach best with a skinful.
But when you come down with your pence,
For a slice of their scurvy religion,
I'll leave it to all men of sense,
But you my good friends are the Pigeon.
Toroddle, toroddle, toroll!

Then come, put the jorum about,
And let us be merry and clever,
Our hearts and our liquors are stout,

Here's the Three Jolly Pigeons for ever!
Let some cry up woodcock or hare,

Your bustards, your ducks, and your widgeons;
But of all the birds in the air,

Here's a health to the Three Jolly Pigeons!
Toroddle, toroddle, toroll!

Omnes. Bravo, bravo!

1st Fel. The 'Squire has got spunk in him. 2d Fel. I loves to hear him sing, bekeays he never gives us nothing that's low.

3d Fel. O, damn any thing that's low! I cannot bear it.

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?

Land. I believe they may. They look woun dily like Frenchmen,

Tony. Then desire them to step this way, and I'll set them right in a twinkling. [Exit Landlord.] Gentlemen, as they may'nt be good enough company for you, step down for a moment, and I'll be with you in the squeezing of a lemon. [Exeunt Mod.

Father-in-law has been calling me whelp, and hound, this half year. Now, if I pleased, I could be so revenged upon the old grumbletonian! But, then, I'm afraid-afraid of what! I shall soon be worth fifteen hundred a-year, and let him frighten me out of that, if he can.

Enter LANDLORD, conducting MARLOW and
HASTINGS.

Mar. What a tedious uncomfortable day have we had of it! We were told it was but forty miles across the country, and we have come above threescore.

Hast. And all, Marlow, from that unaccount4th Fel. The genteel thing is the genteel thing able reserve of yours, that would not let us inat any time. If so be that a gentleman bees inquire more frequently on the way. a concatenation accordingly.

Mar. I own, Hastings, I am unwilling to lay 3d Fel. I like the maxum of it, Master Mug-myself under an obligation to every one I meet; gins. What though I am obligated to dance a and often stand the chance of an unmannerly 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.

2d Fel. 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 shew what it was to keep choice of com

pany.

2d Fel. 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

answer.

Hast. At present, however, we are not likely to receive any answer.

Tony. No offence, gentlemen. But I'm told you have been inquiring for one Mr Hardcastle, in these parts. Do you know what part of the country you are in?

Hast. Not in the least, sir; but should thank you for information.

Tony. Nor the way you came?

Hast. No, sir; but if you can inform us— Tony. Why, gentlemen, if you know neither the road you are going, nor where you are, nor

the road you came, the first thing I have to inform you is, that-You have lost your way.

Mar. We wanted no ghost to tell us that! Tony. Pray, gentlemen, may I be so bold as to ask the place from whence you came? Mar. That's not necessary towards directing us where we are to go.

Tony. No offence: but question for question is all fair, you know. Pray, gentlemen, is not this same Hardcastle a cross-grained, old fashioned, whimsical fellow, with an ugly face, a daughter, and a pretty son?

Hast. We have not seen the gentleman, but he has the family you mention.

Tony. The daughter, a tall trapesing, trolloping, talkative maypole- -The son, a pretty, well-bred, agreeable youth, that every body is fond of.

Mar. 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.

Hast. 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?

Land. Master Hardcastle's! Lock-a-daisy, 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.

Mar. Cross down Squash-lane!

Hast. What's to be done, Marlow? Mar. This house promises but a poor recep tion; though, perhaps, the landlord can accom modate us.

Land. 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 fireside, with-three chairs and a bolster?

Hast. I hate sleeping by the fireside.

Mar. And I detest your three chairs and a bolster.

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 country?

Hast. Oho! so we have escaped an adventure for this night, however.

Land. [Apart to Tony.] Sure, you be'nt 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 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.

Hast. 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 Land. Then you were to keep straight for- persuade you that his mother was an alderman, ward, 'till you came to four roads. and his aunt a justice of peace! Land. A troublesome old blade, to be sure; Tony. Ay; but you must be sure to take only but a keeps as good wines and beds as any in the one of them.

Mar. Come to where four roads meet!

Mar. O sir, you're facetious.

Tony. Then keeping to the right, you are to go sideways till you come upon Crack-skull 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

Mar. Zounds, man! we could as soon find out the longitude!

whole country.

Mar. Well, if he supplies us with these, we shall want no further connexion. We are to turn to the right, did you say?

Tony. No, no; straight forward. I'll just step myself, and shew you a piece of the way. [To the landlord.] Mum!

Land. Ah, bless your heart, for a sweet, pleasant-damned mischievous son of a whore!

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

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Hard. You, Diggory, whom I have taken from the barn, are to make a shew at the side table; and you, Roger, whom I have advanced from the plough, are to place yourself behind my chair. But you're not to stand so, with your hands in your pockets. Take your hands from your pockets, Roger; and from your head, you blockhead you! They're a little too stiff, indeed; but that's no great matter.

Hard. What! will no body move?
1st Ser. I'm not to leave this place.
2d Ser. I'm sure its no pleace of mine.
3d Ser. Nor mine, for sartain.

Dig. Wauns, and I'm sure it canna be ne Hard. You numskulls! and so, whe, 2. your betters, you are quarrelling for places s guests must be starved? O you dunces! I f must begin all over again.But don't I her. coach drive into the yard? To your posts! blockheads! I'll go, in the mean time, and je my old friend's son a hearty welcome at the gi [Exit HARDCASTa

Dig. By the elevens, my place is gone qu out of my head!

Roger. I know that my place is to be ever where.

1st Ser. Where the devil is mine?

2d Ser. My pleace is to be no where at al and so Ize go about my business.

[Exeunt Servants, running about mi frighted, different ways.

Dig. Ay, mind how I hold them! I learned Enter Servant with candles, shewing in ManƏT to hold my hands this way, when I was upon drill for the militia. And so being upon drill

Hard. You must not be so talkative, Diggory. You must be all attention to the guests. You must hear us talk, and not think of talking; you must see us drink, and not think of drinking; you must see us eat, and not think of eating!

Dig. By the laws, your worship, that's parfectly unpossible. Whenever Diggory sees yeating going forwards, ecod, he's always for wishing for a mouthful himself!

Hard. Blockhead! is not a belly-full in the kitchen as good as a belly-full in the parlour? stay your stomach with that reflection!

Dig. 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.

Dig. Then, ecod, your worship must not tell the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room: 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? Dig. 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.

and HASTINGS.

Ser. Welcome, gentlemen, very welcom This way.

Hast. After the disappointments of the dr welcome once more, Charles, to the comforts a clean room and a good fire. Upon my wrt | a very well looking house! antique, but crosse ble.

Mar. The usual fate of a large manse Having first ruined the master by good house keeping, it at last comes to levy contributions = an inn.

Hast. 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, enflame the reckoning confoundedly.

Mar. Travellers, George, must pay in all ple ces. The only difference is, that in good ins 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 asse

rance.

Mar. 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 fami liarly acquainted with a single modest woman

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except my mother-But, among females of another class, you know—

Hust. 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. Happy man! You have talents and art to captivate any woman. I'm doomed 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 dutchesses of Drury-lane. Pshaw! this fellow here to interrupt us.

Enter HARDCASTLE.

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 Hard. Gentlemen, once more you are heartily at any rate. But, I don't know how, a single welcome. Which is Mr Marlow? Sir, you're glance from a pair of fine eyes has totally over-heartily welcome. It's not my way, you see, to set my resolution. An impudent fellow may counterfeit modesty, but I'll be hanged if a modest man can ever conterfeit 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-ma

ker

Mar. Why, George, I can'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 womau, drest out in all her tinery, is the most tremendous object of the whole creation!

Hust. Ha, ha, ha! At this rate, man, how can you ever expect to marry?

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 HASTINGS.] 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 the white and gold.

Hard. Mr Marlow-Mr Hastings-gentlemen

Mar. Never, unless, as among kings and princes, my bride were to be courted by proxy. If,-pray be under no restraint in this house. This indeed, like an eastern bridegroom, one were to is Liberty-hall, gentlemen. You may do just as be introduced to a wife he never saw before, it you please here. might be endured. But to go through all the terrors of a formal courtship, together with the episode of aunts, grand-mothers 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.

VOL. II.

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 about 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.

Hard. Which might consist of about five thousand men, well appointed with stores, ammunition, and other implements of war. Now, says the duke of Marlborough to George Brooks, that stood next to him-You must have heard of 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 glass of punch in the mean time? it would help us to carry on the siege with vigour. 6 D

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