Omnes. No, no. Hard. You, Diggory, whom I have taken from the barn, are to make a show 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. See how Diggory carries his hands. They're a little too stiff, indeed, but that's no great matter. Dig. Ay, mind how I hold them. I learned 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 forward, ecod, he's always 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 drink ables brought upo' the table, and then I'm as bauld as a lion. Hard. What, will nobody move? First Serv. I'm not to leave this pleace. Second Serv. I'm sure it's no pleace of mine. Third Serv. Nor mine, for sartain. Dig. 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 mean time and give my old friend's son a hearty reception at the gate. [Exit Hardcastle. Dig. By the elevens, my pleace is gone quite out of my head. Rog. I know that my pleace is to be everywhere. First Serv. Where the devil is mine? Second Serv. My pleace is to be nowhere at all; and so I'ze go about my business. [Exeunt Servants, running about as if frighted, different ways. Enter Servant with candles, showing in MARLOW 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 sideboard, or a marble chimney-piece, though not actually put in the bill, inflame a reckoning 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 very 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. 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 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 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 woman, drest out in all her finery, is the most tremendous object of the whole creation. Hast. Ha ha! ha! At this rate, man, how can you ever expect to marry? Mar. Never; unless, as among kings and princes, my bride were to be courted by proxy. If, indeed, like an Eastern bridegroom, one were to 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, 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. I'm Mar. Happy man! You have talents and art to captivate any woman. 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 Drury-lane. Pshaw! this fellow here to interrupt us. Enter HARDCASTLE. Hard. Gentlemen, once more you are heartily welcome. Which is Mr. Marlow? Sir, you are 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 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. Hastingsgentlemen-pray be under no constraint in this house. This is Liberty-hall, gentlemen. You may do just as you please here. Mar. Yet, George, if we open the campaign too fiercely at first, we may want ammunition before it is over. 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 we went to besiege Denain. He first summoned the garri son Mar. Don't you think the ventre d'or 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 gave us a glass of punch in the mean time; it would help us to carry on the siege with vigour. Hard. 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 a cup, sir. 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 acquaintance. [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. Hast. (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 is no business "for us that sell ale." Hast. So, then, you have no turn for politics, I find. Hard. Not in the least. There was a time, indeed, 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 Hyder Ally, or Ally Cawn, than about Ally Croker. Sir, my service to you. 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 great 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 Westminster-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. Hast. So then, like an experienced geneMar. (Aside.) So this fellow, in his ral, you attack them on every quarter. If you find their reason manageable, you attack it with your philosophy; if you find they have no reason, you attack them with this. Here's your health, my philosopher. [Drinks. 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 believe 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. My Dorothy and the cook-maid 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 have 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 your 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. Hard. Sir, you have a right to command here. Here, Roger, bring us the bill of fare for to-night's supper: I believe it's drawn out-Your manner, 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 rope! His uncle a colonel! we shall soon hear of his mother being a justice of the peace. But let's hear the bill of fare. Mar. (Perusing.) What's here? For the first course; for the second course; for the desert. The devil, sir, do you think we have brought down a whole Joiners' Company, or the corporation of Bedford, to eat up such a supper? Two or three little things, clean and comfortable, will do. Hast. But let's hear it. Mar. (Reading.) For the first course, at the top, a pig and prune sauce. Hast. Damn your pig, I say. Mar. And damn your prune sauce, say I. Hard. And yet, gentlemen, to men that are hungry, pig with prune sauce is very good eating. Mar. At the bottom, a calf's tongue and brains. Hast. Let your brains be knocked out, my good sir, I don't like them. Mar. Or you may clap them on a plate by themselves. I do. Hard. (Aside.) Their impudence confounds me. (To them.) Gentlemen, you are my guests, make what alterations you please. Is there anything else you wish to retrench or alter, gentlemen? Mar. Item, a pork pie, a boiled rabbit and sausages, a Florentine, a shaking pudding, and a dish of tiff-taff-taffety cream. Hast. Confound your made dishes; I shall be as much at a loss in this house as at a green and yellow dinner at the French ambassador's table. I'm for plain eating. Hard. I'm sorry, gentlemen, that I have nothing you like, but if there be anything you have a particular fancy to Mar. Why, really, sir, your bill of fare is so exquisite, that any one part of it is full as good as another. Send us what you please. So much for supper. And now to see that our beds are aired, and properly taken care of. Hard. I entreat you'll leave that to me. You shall not stir a step. Mar. Leave that to you! I protest, sir, you must excuse me, I always look to these things myself. Hard. I must insist, sir, you'll make yourself easy on that head. Mar. You see I'm resolved on it. (Aside.) A very troublesome fellow this, as I ever met with. Hard. Well, sir, I'm resolved at least to attend you. (Aside.) This may be modern modesty, but I never saw anything look so like old-fashioned impudence. [Exeunt Marlow and Hardcastle. Hast. (Alone.) So I find this fellow's civilities begin to grow troublesome. But who can be angry at those assiduities which are meant to please him? Ha! what do I see? Miss Neville, by all that's happy! Enter MISS NEVILLE. Miss Nev. My dear Hastings! To what unexpected good fortune, to what accident, am I to ascribe this happy meeting? Hast. Rather let me ask the same question, as I could never have hoped to meet my dearest Constance at an inn. What Miss Nev. An inn! sure you mistake: my aunt, my guardian, lives here. could induce you to think this house an inn? Hast. My friend, Mr. Marlow, with whom I came down, and I, have been sent here as to an inn, I assure you. A young fellow, whom we accidentally met at a house hard by, directed us hither. Miss Nev. Certainly it must be one of my hopeful cousin's tricks, of whom you have heard me talk so often; ha! ha! ha! Hast. He whom your aunt intends for you? he of whom I have such just apprehensions? Miss Nev. You have nothing to fear from him, I assure you. You'd adore him, if you knew how heartily he despises me. My aunt knows it too, and has undertaken to court me for him, and actually begins to think she has made a conquest. Hast. Thou dear dissembler! You must know, my Constance, I have just seized this happy opportunity of my friend's visit here to get admittance into the family. The horses that carried us down are now fatigued with their journey, but they'll soon be refreshed; and then, if my dearest girl will trust in her faithful Hastings, we shall soon be landed in France, where even among slaves the laws of marriage are respected. Miss Nev. I have often told you, that ance. though ready to obey you, I yet should leave my little fortune behind with reluctThe greatest part of it was left me by my uncle, the India director, and chiefly consists in jewels. I have been for some time persuading my aunt to let me wear them. I fancy I'm very near succeeding. The instant they are put into my possession, you shall find me ready to make them and myself yours. Hast. Perish the baubles! Your person is all I desire. In the mean time, my friend Marlow must not be let into his mistake. I know the strange reserve of his temper is such, that if abruptly informed of it, he would instantly quit the house before our plan was ripe for execution. Miss Nev. But how shall we keep him in the deception? Miss Hardcastle is just returned from walking; what if we still continue to deceive him?——This, this way[They confer. Enter MARLOW. My Mar. The assiduities of these good people teaze me beyond bearing. host seems to think it ill manners to leave me alone, and so he claps not only himself, but his old-fashioned wife, on my back. They talk of coming to sup with us too; and then, I suppose, we are to run the gauntlet through all the rest of the family.-What have we got here? Hast. My dear Charles! Let me congratulate you !-The most fortunate accident! Who do you think is just alighted? Mar. Cannot guess. Hast. Our mistresses, boy, Miss Hardcastle and Miss Neville. Give me leave to introduce Miss Constance Neville to your acquaintance. Happening to dine in the neighbourhood, they called on their return to take fresh horses here. Miss Hardcastle has just stept into the next room, and will be back in an instant. Wasn't it lucky? eh! Mar. (Aside.) I have been mortified enough of all conscience, and here comes something to complete my embarrassment. Hast. Well, but wasn't it the most fortunate thing in the world? Mar. Oh yes. Very fortunate--a most joyful encounter-But our dresses, George, you know are in disorder- What |