I have just come from one of our
agreeable
tête-à-têtes.
Oliver Goldsmith
Learning, quotha!
a mere composition of tricks and mischief.
MRS. HARD. Humour, my dear: nothing but humour. Come, Mr. Hardcastle,
you must allow the boy a little humour.
HARD. I'd sooner allow him a horse-pond. If burning the footmen's
shoes, frighting the maids, worrying the kittens—be humour, he has it.
It was but yesterday he fastened my wig to the back of my chair, and
when I went to make a bow, I popt my bald head in Mrs. Frizzle's face.
MRS. HARD. And am I to blame? The poor boy was always too sickly to do
any good. A school would be his death. When 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 alehouse and the
stable are the only schools he'll ever go to.
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 the symptoms.
MRS. HARD. He coughs sometimes.
HARD. Yes, when his liquor goes the wrong way.
MRS. HARD. I'm actually afraid of his 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, lovee?
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.
HARD. Ay; the alehouse, the old place: 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.
TONY. I will, I tell you.
MRS. HARD. I say you shan't.
TONY. We'll see which is the strongest, you or I!
_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.
_Enter_ MISS HARDCASTLE.
HARD. Blessings on my pretty innocence! Drest 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. You allow me the morning to
receive and pay visits, and to dress in my own manner; and in the
evening, I put on my housewife's dress to please you.
HARD. Well, remember I insist on the terms of our agreement; and, by
the by, I 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 I have pitched upon, is the son of my old 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.
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!
[Illustration:
MISS HARDCASTLE. —"_I protest, Sir, I
do not comprehend your meaning. _"—_p. _ 326.
]
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 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.
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 HARDCASTLE, _sola_.
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—good-natured: I like all that. But then—reserved, and
sheepish: that's much against him. Yet, can't he be cur'd 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 I have secured the
lover.
_Enter_ MISS NEVILLE.
MISS HARD. I'm glad you're come, Neville, my dear. Tell me, Constance:
how do I look this evening? Is there anything 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 happened among the canary birds, or the gold fishes. Has
your brother or the cat been meddling? Or, has the last novel been too
moving?
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 tête-à-têtes. She
has been saying a hundred tender things, and setting off her pretty
monster as the very pink of perfection.
[Illustration:
TONY. —"_Then I'll sing you,
gentlemen, a song. _"—_p. _ 330.
]
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 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 bedtime, and all were well.
_Exeunt. _
SCENE. —_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!
1 FEL. 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 alehouse,
the Three Pigeons.
SONG.
Let school-masters puzzle their brain,
With grammar, and nonsense, and learning;
Good liquor, I stoutly maintain,
Give _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.
Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.
When methodist-preachers come down,
A preaching that drinking is sinful,
I'll wager the rascals a crown,
They always preach best with a skin full.
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 friend, 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!
1 FEL. The 'squire has got spunk in him.
2 FEL. I loves to hear him sing, bekeays he never gives us nothing
that's _low_.
3 FEL. O damn anything that's _low_, I cannot bear it.
4 FEL. The genteel thing, is the genteel thing at any time. If so be
that a gentleman bees in a concatenation accordingly.
3 FEL. 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. "
2 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 show what it was to
keep choice of company.
2 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
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 Bett 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.
LAND. There be two gentlemen in a post-chaise 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?
LAND. 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. _
TONY, _solus_.
TONY. 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.
MARL. 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 unaccountable reserve of yours, that
would not let us inquire more frequently on the way.
MARL. I own, Hastings, I am unwilling to lay myself under an obligation
to every one I meet; and often stand the chance of an unmannerly
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 those 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.
MARL. 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?
MARL. 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
May-pole——The son, a pretty, well-bred, agreeable youth, that everybody
is fond of.
MARL. 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 damn'd 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? Lack-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.
MARL. Cross down Squash-lane?
LAND. Then you were to keep straight forward, till you came to four
roads.
MARL. Come to where four roads meet!
TONY. Aye; but you must be sure to take only one of them.
MARL. 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——
MARL. Zounds, man! we could as soon find out the longitude!
HAST. What's to be done, Marlow?
MARL. This house promises but a poor reception; though perhaps the
landlord can accommodate 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 would accommodate the gentlemen
by the fireside, with—three chairs and a bolster?
HAST. I hate sleeping by the fireside.
MARL. And I detest your three chairs and a bolster.
TONY. You do, do you? —then let me see—what 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. O, ho! so we have escaped an adventure for this night, however.
LAND. (_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 road-side. You'll see a pair of large horns over the door.
That's the sign.
MRS. HARD. Humour, my dear: nothing but humour. Come, Mr. Hardcastle,
you must allow the boy a little humour.
HARD. I'd sooner allow him a horse-pond. If burning the footmen's
shoes, frighting the maids, worrying the kittens—be humour, he has it.
It was but yesterday he fastened my wig to the back of my chair, and
when I went to make a bow, I popt my bald head in Mrs. Frizzle's face.
MRS. HARD. And am I to blame? The poor boy was always too sickly to do
any good. A school would be his death. When 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 alehouse and the
stable are the only schools he'll ever go to.
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 the symptoms.
MRS. HARD. He coughs sometimes.
HARD. Yes, when his liquor goes the wrong way.
MRS. HARD. I'm actually afraid of his 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, lovee?
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.
HARD. Ay; the alehouse, the old place: 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.
TONY. I will, I tell you.
MRS. HARD. I say you shan't.
TONY. We'll see which is the strongest, you or I!
_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.
_Enter_ MISS HARDCASTLE.
HARD. Blessings on my pretty innocence! Drest 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. You allow me the morning to
receive and pay visits, and to dress in my own manner; and in the
evening, I put on my housewife's dress to please you.
HARD. Well, remember I insist on the terms of our agreement; and, by
the by, I 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 I have pitched upon, is the son of my old 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.
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!
[Illustration:
MISS HARDCASTLE. —"_I protest, Sir, I
do not comprehend your meaning. _"—_p. _ 326.
]
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 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.
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 HARDCASTLE, _sola_.
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—good-natured: I like all that. But then—reserved, and
sheepish: that's much against him. Yet, can't he be cur'd 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 I have secured the
lover.
_Enter_ MISS NEVILLE.
MISS HARD. I'm glad you're come, Neville, my dear. Tell me, Constance:
how do I look this evening? Is there anything 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 happened among the canary birds, or the gold fishes. Has
your brother or the cat been meddling? Or, has the last novel been too
moving?
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 tête-à-têtes. She
has been saying a hundred tender things, and setting off her pretty
monster as the very pink of perfection.
[Illustration:
TONY. —"_Then I'll sing you,
gentlemen, a song. _"—_p. _ 330.
]
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 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 bedtime, and all were well.
_Exeunt. _
SCENE. —_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!
1 FEL. 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 alehouse,
the Three Pigeons.
SONG.
Let school-masters puzzle their brain,
With grammar, and nonsense, and learning;
Good liquor, I stoutly maintain,
Give _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.
Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.
When methodist-preachers come down,
A preaching that drinking is sinful,
I'll wager the rascals a crown,
They always preach best with a skin full.
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 friend, 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!
1 FEL. The 'squire has got spunk in him.
2 FEL. I loves to hear him sing, bekeays he never gives us nothing
that's _low_.
3 FEL. O damn anything that's _low_, I cannot bear it.
4 FEL. The genteel thing, is the genteel thing at any time. If so be
that a gentleman bees in a concatenation accordingly.
3 FEL. 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. "
2 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 show what it was to
keep choice of company.
2 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
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 Bett 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.
LAND. There be two gentlemen in a post-chaise 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?
LAND. 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. _
TONY, _solus_.
TONY. 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.
MARL. 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 unaccountable reserve of yours, that
would not let us inquire more frequently on the way.
MARL. I own, Hastings, I am unwilling to lay myself under an obligation
to every one I meet; and often stand the chance of an unmannerly
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 those 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.
MARL. 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?
MARL. 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
May-pole——The son, a pretty, well-bred, agreeable youth, that everybody
is fond of.
MARL. 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 damn'd 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? Lack-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.
MARL. Cross down Squash-lane?
LAND. Then you were to keep straight forward, till you came to four
roads.
MARL. Come to where four roads meet!
TONY. Aye; but you must be sure to take only one of them.
MARL. 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——
MARL. Zounds, man! we could as soon find out the longitude!
HAST. What's to be done, Marlow?
MARL. This house promises but a poor reception; though perhaps the
landlord can accommodate 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 would accommodate the gentlemen
by the fireside, with—three chairs and a bolster?
HAST. I hate sleeping by the fireside.
MARL. And I detest your three chairs and a bolster.
TONY. You do, do you? —then let me see—what 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. O, ho! so we have escaped an adventure for this night, however.
LAND. (_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 road-side. You'll see a pair of large horns over the door.
That's the sign.
