Enter Hastings and Miss Neville.
Hastings. You surprise me; Sir Charles Marlow expected here this night! Where have you had your information?
Miss Neville. You may depend upon it. I just saw his letter to Mr. Hardcastle, in which he tells him he intends setting out a few hours after his son.
Hastings. Then, my Constance, all must be completed before he arrives. He knows me; and should he find me here, would discover my name, and perhaps my designs, to the rest of the family.
Miss Neville. The jewels, I hope, are safe?
Hastings. Yes, yes, I have sent them to Marlow, who keeps the keys of our baggage. In the mean time, I’ll go to prepare matters for our elopement. I have had the ’squire’s promise of a fresh pair of horses; and if I should not see him again, will write him further directions. [Exit.]
Miss Neville. Well! success attend you. In the mean time I’ll go and amuse my aunt with the old pretence of a violent passion for my cousin. [Exit.]
Enter Marlow, followed by a Servant.
Marlow. 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?
Servant. Yes, your honour.
Marlow. She said she’d keep it safe, did she?
Servant. 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 Servant.]
Marlow. 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.
Hastings. 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!
Marlow. 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.
Hastings. Some women, you mean. But what success has your honour’s modesty been crowned with now, that it grows so insolent upon us?
Marlow. Didn’t you see the tempting, brisk, lovely little thing, that runs about the house with a bunch of keys to its girdle?
Hastings. Well, and what then?
Marlow. She’s mine, you rogue you. Such fire, such motion, such eyes, such lips; but, egad! she would not let me kiss them though.
Hastings. But are you so sure, so very sure of her?
Marlow. Why, man, she talked of showing me her work above stairs, and I am to improve the pattern.
Hastings. But how can you, Charles, go about to rob a woman of her honour?
Marlow. 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 shan’t honestly pay for.
Hastings. I believe the girl has virtue.
Marlow. And if she has, I should be the last man in the world that would attempt to corrupt it.
Hastings. You have taken care, I hope, of the casket I sent you to lock up? Is it in safety?
Marlow. 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 precautions for you than you did for yourself — I have —
Marlow. I have sent it to the landlady to keep for you.
Hastings. To the landlady!
Marlow. The landlady.
Hastings. You did?
Marlow. I did. She’s to be answerable for its forthcoming, you know.
Hastings. Yes, she’ll bring it forth with a witness.
Marlow. Wasn’t I right? I believe you’ll allow that I acted prudently upon this occasion.
Hastings. [Aside.] He must not see my uneasiness.
Marlow. You seem a little disconcerted though, methinks. Sure nothing has happened?
Hastings. 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.
Marlow. 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!
Hastings. He! he! he! They’re safe, however.
Marlow. As a guinea in a miser’s purse.
Hastings. [Aside.] So now all hopes of fortune are at an end, and we must set off without it. [To him.] 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! [Exit.]
Marlow. Thank ye, George: I ask no more. Ha! ha! ha!
Hardcastle. 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. [To him.] Mr. Marlow, your servant. I’m your very humble servant. [Bowing low.]
Marlow. Sir, your humble servant. [Aside.] What’s to be the wonder now?
Hardcastle. 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?
Marlow. I do from my soul, sir. I don’t want much entreaty. I generally make my father’s son welcome wherever he goes.
Hardcastle. 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.
Marlow. I protest, my very good sir, that is no fault of mine. If they don’t drink as they ought, they are to blame. I ordered them not to spare the cellar. I did, I assure you. [To the side scene.] Here, let one of my servants come up. [To him.] My positive directions were, that as I did not drink myself, they should make up for my deficiencies below.
Hardcastle. Then they had your orders for what they do? I’m satisfied!
Marlow. They had, I assure you. You shall hear from one of themselves.
Enter Servant, drunk.
Marlow. 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 good of the house?
Hardcastle. [Aside.] I begin to lose my patience.
Jeremy. Please your honour, liberty and Fleet-street for ever! Though I’m but a servant, I’m as good as another man. I’ll drink for no man before supper, sir, damme! Good liquor will sit upon a good supper, but a good supper will not sit upon — hiccup — on my conscience, sir.
Marlow. 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.
Hardcastle. Zounds! he’ll drive me distracted, if I contain myself any longer. 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.
Marlow. Leave your house! — Sure you jest, my good friend! What? when I’m doing what I can to please you.
Hardcastle. I tell you, sir, you don’t please me; so I desire you’ll leave my house.
Marlow. Sure you cannot be serious? At this time o’ night, and such a night? You only mean to banter me.
Hardcastle. I tell you, sir, I’m serious! and now that my passions are roused, I say this house is mine, sir; this house is mine, and I command you to leave it directly.
Marlow. Ha! ha! ha! A puddle in a storm. I shan’t stir a step, I assure you. [In a serious tone.] This your house, fellow! It’s my house. This is my house. Mine, while 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.
Hardcastle. Nor I, confound me if ever I 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 fire-screen, and here’s a pair of brazen-nosed bellows; perhaps you may take a fancy to them?
Marlow. Bring me your bill, sir; bring me your bill, and let’s make no more words about it.
Hardcastle. There are a set of prints, too. What think you of the Rake’s Progress, for your own apartment?
Marlow. Bring me your bill, I say; and I’ll leave you and your infernal house directly.
Hardcastle. Then there’s a mahogany table that you may see your own face in.
Marlow. My bill, I say.
Hardcastle. I had forgot the great chair for your own particular slumbers, after a hearty meal.
Marlow. Zounds! bring me my bill, I say, and let’s hear no more on’t.
Hardcastle. 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.]
Marlow. How’s this? Sure I have not mistaken the house. Everything 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.
Miss Hardcastle. Let it be short, then. I’m in a hurry. [Aside.] I believe be begins to find out his mistake. But it’s too soon quite to undeceive him.
Marlow. Pray, child, answer me one question. What are you, and what may your business in this house be?
Miss Hardcastle. A relation of the family, sir.
Marlow. What, a poor relation.
Miss Hardcastle. Yes, sir. A poor relation, appointed to keep the keys, and to see that the guests want nothing in my power to give them.
Marlow. That is, you act as the bar-maid of this inn.
Miss Hardcastle. Inn! O law — what brought that in your head? One of the best families in the country keep an inn — Ha! ha! ha! old Mr. Hardcastle’s house an inn!
Marlow. Mr. Hardcastle’s house! Is this Mr. Hardcastle’s house, child?
Miss Hardcastle. Ay, sure! Whose else should it be?
Marlow. So then, all’s out, and I have been damnably imposed on. O, confound my stupid head, I 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 innkeeper! 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 Hardcastle. Dear me! dear me! I’m sure there’s nothing in my behaviour to put me on a level with one of that stamp.
Marlow. Nothing, my dear, nothing. But I was in for a list of blunders, and could not help making you a subscriber. My stupidity saw everything 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 Hardcastle. I hope, sir, I have done nothing to disoblige you. I’m sure I should be sorry to affront any gentleman who has been so polite, and said so many civil things to me. I’m sure I should be sorry [pretending to cry] if he left the family upon my account. I’m sure I should be sorry if people said anything amiss, since I have no fortune but my character.
Marlow. [Aside.] By Heaven! she weeps. This is the first mark of tenderness I ever had from a modest woman, and it touches me. [To her.] 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, makes an honourable connexion impossible; and I can never harbour a thought of seducing simplicity that trusted in my honour, of bringing ruin upon one whose only fault was being too lovely.
Miss Hardcastle. [Aside.] Generous man! I now begin to admire him. [To him.] But I am sure my family is as good as Miss Hardcastle’s; and though I’m poor, that’s no great misfortune to a contented mind; and, until this moment, I never thought that it was bad to want fortune.
Marlow. And why now, my pretty simplicity?
Miss Hardcastle. Because it puts me at a distance from one that, if I had a thousand pounds, I would give it all to.
Marlow. [Aside.] This simplicity bewitches me, so that if I stay, I’m undone. I must make one bold effort, and leave her. [To her.] Your partiality in my favour, my dear, touches me most sensibly: and were I to live for myself alone, I could easily fix my choice. But I owe too much to the opinion of the world, too much to the authority of a father; so that — I can scarcely speak it — it affects me. Farewell. [Exit.]
Miss Hardcastle. I never knew half his merit till now. He shall not go, if I have power or art to detain him. I’ll still preserve the character in which I stooped to conquer; but will undeceive my papa, who perhaps may laugh him out of his resolution. [Exit.]
Enter Tony and Miss Neville.
Tony. Ay, you may steal for yourselves the next time. I have done my duty. She has got the jewels again, that’s a sure thing; but she believes it was all a mistake of the servants.
Miss Neville. But, my dear cousin, sure you won’t 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 Whistle-jacket; and I’m sure you can’t 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. [They retire, and seem to fondle.]
Enter Mrs. Hardcastle.
Mrs. Hardcastle. Well, I was greatly fluttered, to be sure. But my son tells me it was all a mistake of the servants. I shan’t be easy, however, till they are fairly married, and then let her keep her own fortune. But what do I see? fondling together, as I’m 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. Hardcastle. A mere sprinkling, Tony, upon the flame, only to make it burn brighter.
Miss Neville. Cousin Tony promises to give us more of his company at home. Indeed, he shan’t leave us any more. It won’t leave us, cousin Tony, will it?
Tony. O! it’s a pretty creature. No, I’d sooner leave my horse in a pound, than leave you when you smile upon one so. Your laugh makes you so becoming.
Miss Neville. Agreeable cousin! Who can help admiring that natural humour, that pleasant, broad, red, thoughtless [patting his cheek] — ah! it’s a bold face.
Mrs. Hardcastle. Pretty innocence!
Tony. I’m sure I always loved cousin Con’s hazle eyes, and her pretty long fingers, that she twists this way and that over the haspicholls, like a parcel of bobbins.
Mrs. Hardcastle. Ah! he would charm the bird from the tree. I was never so happy before. My boy takes after his father, poor Mr. Lumpkin, exactly. The jewels, my dear Con, shall be yours incontinently. You shall have them. Isn’t he a sweet boy, my dear? You shall be married tomorrow, and we’ll put off the rest of his education, like Dr. Drowsy’s sermons, to a fitter opportunity.
Diggory. Where’s the ’squire? I have got a letter for your worship.
Tony. Give it to my mamma. She reads all my letters first.
Diggory. I had orders to deliver it into your own hands.
Tony. Who does it come from?
Diggory. Your worship mun ask that o’ the letter itself.
Tony. I could wish to know though [turning the letter, and gazing on it].
Miss Neville. [Aside.] Undone! undone! A 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 cramp piece of penmanship, as ever I saw in my life. I can read your print hand very well. But here are such handles, and shanks, and dashes, that one can scarce tell the head from the tail. —“To Anthony Lumpkin, Esquire.” It’s very odd, I can read the outside of my letters, where my own name is, well enough; but when I come to open it, it’s all — buzz. That’s hard, very hard; for the inside of the letter is always the cream of the correspondence.
Mrs. Hardcastle. Ha! ha! ha! Very well, very well. And so my son was too hard for the philosopher.
Miss Neville. 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. Hardcastle. He seems strangely puzzled now himself, 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. Hardcastle. What’s that, my dear? Can I give you any assistance?
Miss Neville. Pray, aunt, let me read it. Nobody reads a cramp hand better than I. [Twitching the letter from him.] Do you know who it is from?
Tony. Can’t tell, except from Dick Ginger, the feeder.
Miss Neville. 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 Goose-green quite out of feather. The odds — um — odd battle — um — long 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 out. Of no consequence! [Giving Mrs. Hardcastle the letter.]
Mrs. Hardcastle. How’s this? — [Reads.] “Dear ’Squire, I’m now waiting for Miss Neville, with a post-chaise and pair, at the bottom of the garden, but I find my horses yet unable to perform the journey. I expect you’ll assist us with a pair of fresh horses, as you promised. Dispatch is necessary, as the hag [ay, the hag], your mother, will otherwise suspect us! Yours, Hastings.” Grant me patience. I shall run distracted! My rage chokes me.
Miss Neville. I hope, madam, you’ll suspend your resentment for a few moments, and not impute to me any impertinence, or sinister design, that belongs to another.
Mrs. Hardcastle. [Curtseying 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 Neville. So now I’m completely ruined.
Tony. Ay, that’s a sure thing.
Miss Neville. What better could be expected from being connected with such a stupid fool — and after all the nods and signs I made him?
Tony. By the laws, miss, it was your own cleverness, and not my stupidity, that did your business. You were so nice and so busy with your Shake-bags and Goose-greens, that I thought you could never be making believe.
Hastings. 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.
Marlow. So I have been finely used here among you. Rendered contemptible, driven into ill manners, despised, insulted, laughed at.
Tony. Here’s another. We shall have old Bedlam broke loose presently.
Miss Neville. And there, sir, is the gentleman to whom we all owe every obligation.
Marlow. What can I say to him, a mere boy, an idiot, whose ignorance and age are a protection?
Hastings. A poor contemptible booby, that would but disgrace correction.
Miss Neville. Yet with cunning and malice enough to make himself merry with all our embarrassments.
Hastings. An insensible cub.
Marlow. Replete with tricks and mischief.
Tony. Baw! damme, but I’ll fight you both, one after the other — with baskets.
Marlow. 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.
Hastings. Tortured as I am with my own disappointments, is this a time for explanations? It is not friendly, Mr. Marlow.
Marlow. But, sir —
Miss Neville. Mr. Marlow, we never kept on your mistake till it was too late to undeceive you.
Servant. My mistress desires you’ll get ready immediately, madam. The horses are putting to. Your hat and things are in the next room. We are to go thirty miles before morning. [Exit Servant.]
Miss Neville. Well, well: I’ll come presently.
Marlow. [To Hastings.] Was it well done, sir, to assist in rendering me ridiculous? To hang me out for the scorn of all my acquaintance? Depend upon it, sir, I shall expect an explanation.
Hastings. Was it well done, sir, if you’re upon that subject, to deliver what I entrusted to yourself, to the care of another sir?
Miss Neville. Mr. Hastings! Mr. Marlow! Why will you increase my distress by this groundless dispute? I implore, I entreat you —
Servant. Your cloak, madam. My mistress is impatient. [Exit Servant.]
Miss Neville. I come. Pray be pacified. If I leave you thus, I shall die with apprehension.
Servant. Your fan, muff, and gloves, madam. The horses are waiting.
Miss Neville. O, Mr. Marlow! if you knew what a scene of constraint and ill-nature lies before me, I’m sure it would convert your resentment into pity.
Marlow. I’m so distracted with a variety of passions, that I don’t know what I do. Forgive me, madam. George, forgive me. You know my hasty temper, and should not exasperate it.
Hastings. The torture of my situation is my only excuse.
Miss Neville. Well, my dear Hastings, if you have that esteem for me that I think, that I am sure you have, your constancy for three years will but increase the happiness of our future connexion. If —
Mrs. Hardcastle. [Within.] Miss Neville. Constance, why Constance, I say.
Miss Neville. I’m coming. Well, constancy, remember, constancy is the word. [Exit.]
Hastings. My heart! how can I support this? To be so near happiness, and such happiness!
Marlow. [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! — My boots there, ho! — Meet me two hours hence at the bottom of the garden; and if you don’t find Tony Lumpkin a more good-natured fellow than you thought for, I’ll give you leave to take my best horse, and Bet Bouncer into the bargain. Come along. My boots, ho! [Exeunt.]
Last updated Sunday, March 27, 2016 at 11:54