Is that a man that's
galloping
behind us?
Oliver Goldsmith
No, I don't say that—Not quite impudence—Though girls
like to be played with, and rumpled a little too sometimes. But she has
told no tales I assure you.
MARL. I never gave her the slightest cause.
HARD. Well, well, I like modesty in its place well enough. But this is
over-acting, young gentleman. You _may_ be open. Your father and I will
like you the better for it.
MARL. May I die, sir, if I ever——
HARD. I tell you, she don't dislike you; and as I'm sure you like her——
MARL. Dear sir—I protest, sir——
HARD. I see no reason why you should not be joined as fast as the
parson can tie you.
MARL. But hear me, sir——
HARD. Your father approves the match, I admire it, every moment's delay
will be doing mischief, so——
MARL. But why won't you hear me? By all that's just and true, I never
gave Miss Hardcastle the slightest mark of my attachment, or even the
most distant hint to suspect me of affection. We had but one interview,
and that was formal, modest and uninteresting.
HARD. (_Aside. _). This fellow's formal modest impudence is beyond
bearing.
SIR CHARLES. And you never grasped her hand, or made any protestations?
MARL. As Heaven is my witness, I came down in obedience to your
commands. I saw the lady without emotion, and parted without
reluctance. I hope you'll exact no further proofs of my duty, nor
prevent me from leaving a house in which I suffer so many
mortifications.
_Exit. _
SIR CHARLES. I'm astonished at the air of sincerity with which he
parted.
HARD. And I'm astonished at the deliberate intrepidity of his
assurance.
SIR CHARLES. I dare pledge my life and honour upon his truth.
HARD. Here comes my daughter, and I would stake my happiness upon her
veracity.
_Enter_ MISS HARDCASTLE.
HARD. Kate, come hither, child. Answer us sincerely, and without
reserve: has Mr. Marlow made you any professions of love and affection?
MISS HARD. The question is very abrupt, sir! But since you require
unreserved sincerity, I think he has.
HARD. (_To_ SIR CHARLES. ) You see.
SIR CHARLES. And pray, madam, have you and my son had more than one
interview?
MISS HARD. Yes, sir, several.
HARD. (_To_ SIR CHARLES. ) You see.
SIR CHARLES. But did he profess any attachment?
MISS HARD. A lasting one.
SIR CHARLES. Did he talk of love?
MISS HARD. Much, sir.
SIR CHARLES. Amazing! and all this formally?
MISS HARD. Formally.
HARD. Now, my friend, I hope you are satisfied?
SIR CHARLES. And how did he behave, madam?
MISS HARD. As most professed admirers do. Said some civil things of my
face: talked much of his want of merit, and the greatness of mine;
mentioned his heart; gave a short tragedy speech, and ended with
pretended rapture.
SIR CHARLES. Now I'm perfectly convinced, indeed. I know his
conversation among women to be modest and submissive. This forward,
canting, ranting manner by no means describes him, and I am confident
he never sat for the picture.
MISS HARD. Then what, sir, if I should convince you to your face of my
sincerity? If you and my papa, in about half-an-hour, will place
yourselves behind that screen, you shall hear him declare his passion
to me in person.
SIR CHARLES. Agreed. And if I find him what you describe, all my
happiness in him must have an end.
_Exit. _
MISS HARD. And if you don't find him what I describe—I fear my
happiness must never have a beginning.
_Exeunt. _
_Scene changes to the back of the garden. _
_Enter_ HASTINGS.
HAST. What an idiot am I, to wait here for a fellow who probably takes
a delight in mortifying me. He never intended to be punctual, and I'll
wait no longer. What do I see? It is he, and perhaps with news of my
Constance.
_Enter_ TONY, _booted and spattered_.
HAST. My honest 'squire! I now find you a man of your word. This looks
like friendship.
TONY. Ay, I'm your friend, and the best friend you have in the world,
if you knew but all. This riding by night, by-the-by, is cursedly
tiresome. It has shook me worse than the basket of a stage-coach.
HAST. But how? Where did you leave your fellow travellers? Are they in
safety! Are they housed?
TONY. Five-and-twenty miles in two hours and a half is no such bad
driving. The poor beasts have smoked for it. Rabbet me, but I'd rather
ride forty miles after a fox, than ten with such _varment_.
HAST. Well, but where have you left the ladies? I die with impatience.
TONY. Left them? Why where should I leave them but where I found them.
HAST. This is a riddle.
TONY. Riddle me this, then. What's that goes round the house, and round
the house and never touches the house?
HAST. I'm still astray.
TONY. Why that's it, mon. I have led them astray. By jingo, there's not
a pond or slough within five miles of the place, but they can tell the
taste of.
HAST. Ha, ha, ha! I understand: you took them in a round, while they
supposed themselves going forward. And so you have at last brought them
home again.
TONY. You shall hear. I first took them down Feather-bed-lane, where we
stuck fast in the mud. I then rattled them crack over the stones of
Up-and-down Hill—I then introduced them to the gibbet, on Heavy-tree
Heath; and from that, with a circumbendibus, I fairly lodged them in
the horse-pond at the bottom of the garden.
HAST. But no accident, I hope.
TONY. No, no. Only mother is confoundedly frightened. She thinks
herself forty miles off. She's sick of the journey, and the cattle can
scarce crawl. So if your own horses be ready, you may whip off with
cousin, and I'll be bound that no soul here can budge a foot to follow
you.
HAST. My dear friend, how can I be grateful?
TONY. Ay, now it's dear friend, noble 'squire. Just now, it was all
idiot, cub, and run me through the guts. Damn _your_ way of fighting, I
say. After we take a knock in this part of the country, we kiss and be
friends. But, if you had run me through the guts, then I should be
dead, and you might go kiss the hangman.
HAST. The rebuke is just. But I must hasten to relieve Miss Neville; if
you keep the old lady employed, I promise to take care of the young
one.
_Exit_ HASTINGS.
TONY. Never fear me. Here she comes. Vanish. She's got from the pond,
and draggled up to the waist like a mermaid.
_Enter_ MRS. HARDCASTLE.
MRS. HARD. Oh, Tony, I'm killed. Shook. Battered to death. I shall
never survive it. That last jolt, that laid us against the quickset
hedge, has done my business.
TONY. Alack, mamma, it was all your own fault. You would be for running
away by night, without knowing one inch of the way.
MRS. HARD. I wish we were at home again. I never met so many accidents
in so short a journey. Drenched in the mud, overturned in a ditch,
stuck fast in a slough, jolted to a jelly, and at last to lose our way!
Whereabouts do you think we are, Tony?
TONY. By my guess we should be upon Crackskull Common, about forty
miles from home.
MRS. HARD. O lud! O lud! the most notorious spot in all the country. We
only want a robbery to make a complete night on't.
[Illustration:
TONY. —"_Don't be afraid, mamma. _"—_p. _ 371.
]
TONY. Don't be afraid, mamma, don't be afraid. Two of the five that
kept here are hanged, and the other three may not find us. Don't be
afraid.
Is that a man that's galloping behind us? No; it's only a tree.
Don't be afraid.
MRS. HARD. The fright will certainly kill me.
TONY. Do you see anything like a black hat moving behind the thicket?
MRS. HARD. O death!
TONY. No, it's only a cow. Don't be afraid, mamma: don't be afraid.
MRS. HARD. As I'm alive, Tony, I see a man coming towards us. Ah! I'm
sure on't. If he perceives us we are undone.
TONY (_Aside. _) Father-in-law, by all that's unlucky, come to take one
of his night walks. (_To her. _) Ah! it's a highwayman, with pistols as
long as my arm. A damn'd ill looking fellow.
MRS. HARD. Good Heaven defend us! He approaches.
TONY. Do you hide yourself in that thicket, and leave me to manage him.
If there be any danger I'll cough, and cry—hem! When I cough, be sure
to keep close.
MRS. HARDCASTLE _hides behind a tree, in the back scene_.
_Enter_ HARDCASTLE.
HARD. I'm mistaken, or I heard voices of people in want of help. O,
Tony, is that you? I did not expect you so soon back. Are your mother
and her charge in safety?
TONY. Very safe, sir, at my aunt Pedigree's. Hem!
MRS. HARD. (_From behind. _). Ah, death! I find there's danger.
HARD. Forty miles in three hours; sure that's too much, my youngster.
TONY. Stout horses and willing minds make short journeys, as they say.
Hem!
MRS. HARD. (_From behind. _) Sure he'll do the dear boy no harm.
HARD. But I heard a voice here; I should be glad to know from whence it
came.
TONY. It was I, sir; talking to myself, sir. I was saying, that forty
miles in three hours, was very good going—hem! As, to be sure, it
was—hem! I have got a sort of cold by being out in the air. We'll go
in, if you please—hem!
HARD. But if you talked to yourself, you did not answer yourself. I am
certain I heard two voices, and am resolved (_Raising his voice_) to
find the other out.
MRS. HARD. (_From behind. _) Oh! he's coming to find me out. Oh!
TONY. What need you go, sir, if I tell you—hem! I'll lay down my life
for the truth—hem! I'll tell you all, sir.
_Detaining him. _
HARD. I tell you, I will not be detained. I insist on seeing. It's in
vain to expect I'll believe you.
MRS. HARD. (_Running forward from behind. _) O lud, he'll murder my poor
boy, my darling. Here, good gentleman, whet your rage upon me. Take my
money, my life; but spare that young gentleman, spare my child, if you
have any mercy.
HARD. My wife! as I'm a Christian. From whence can she come, or what
does she mean?
MRS. HARD. (_Kneeling. _) Take compassion on us, good Mr. Highwayman.
Take our money, our watches, all we have; but spare our lives. We will
never bring you to justice; indeed we won't, good Mr. Highwayman.
HARD. I believe the woman's out of her senses. What, Dorothy, don't you
know _me_?
MRS. HARD. Mr. Hardcastle, as I'm alive! My fears blinded me. But who,
my dear, could have expected to meet you here, in this frightful place,
so far from home? What has brought you to follow us?
HARD. Sure, Dorothy, you have not lost your wits? So far from home,
when you are within forty yards of your own door? (_To him. _) This is
one of your old tricks, you graceless rogue you. (_To her. _) Don't you
know the gate, and the mulberry-tree? and don't you remember the
horse-pond, my dear?
MRS. HARD. Yes, I shall remember the horse-pond as long as I live: I
have caught my death in it. (_To_ TONY. ) And is it to you, you
graceless varlet, I owe all this? I'll teach you to abuse your mother,
I will.
TONY. Ecod, mother, all the parish says you have spoiled me, and so you
may take the fruits on't.
MRS. HARD. I'll spoil you, I will.
_Follows him off the stage. _ _Exit. _
HARD. There's morality, however, in his reply.
_Exit. _
_Enter_ HASTINGS _and_ MISS NEVILLE.
HAST. My dear Constance, why will you deliberate thus? If we delay a
moment, all is lost for ever. Pluck up a little resolution, and we
shall soon be out of the reach of her malignity.
MISS NEV. I find it impossible. My spirits are so sunk with the
agitations I have suffered, that I am unable to face any new danger.
Two or three years' patience will at last crown us with happiness.
HAST. Such a tedious delay is worse than inconstancy. Let us fly, my
charmer. Let us date our happiness from this very moment. Perish
fortune. Love and content will increase what we possess, beyond a
monarch's revenue. Let me prevail.
MISS NEV. No, Mr. Hastings; no. Prudence once more comes to my relief,
and I will obey its dictates. In the moment of passion, fortune may be
despised; but it ever produces a lasting repentance. I am resolved to
apply to Mr. Hardcastle's compassion and justice for redress.
HAST. But though he had the will, he has not the power, to relieve you.
MISS NEV. But he has influence, and upon that I am resolved to rely.
HAST. I have no hopes. But since you persist, I must reluctantly obey
you.
_Exeunt. _
_Scene changes. _
_Enter_ SIR CHARLES _and_ MISS HARDCASTLE.
SIR CHARLES. What a situation am I in! If what you say appears, I shall
then find a guilty son. If what he says be true, I shall then lose one
that, of all others, I most wished for a daughter.
MISS HARD. I am proud of your approbation, and to show I merit it, if
you place yourselves as I directed, you shall hear his explicit
declaration. But he comes.
SIR CHARLES. I'll to your father, and keep him to the appointment.
_Exit_ SIR CHARLES.
_Enter_ MARLOW.
MARL. Though prepared for setting out, I come once more to take leave;
nor did I, till this moment, know the pain I feel in the separation.
MISS HARD. (_In her own natural manner. _) I believe these sufferings
cannot be very great, sir, which you can so easily remove. A day or two
longer, perhaps, might lessen your uneasiness, by showing the little
value of what you now think proper to regret.
MARL. (_Aside. _) This girl every moment improves upon me. (_To her. _)
It must not be, madam. I have already trifled too long with my heart.
My very pride begins to submit to my passion. The disparity of
education and fortune, the anger of a parent, and the contempt of my
equals, begin to lose their weight, and nothing can restore me to
myself, but this painful effort of resolution.
MISS HARD. Then go, sir. I'll urge nothing more to detain you. Though
my family be as good as hers you came down to visit; and my education,
I hope, not inferior, what are these advantages, without equal
affluence? I must remain contented with the slight approbation of
imputed merit; I must have only the mockery of your addresses, while
all your serious aims are fixed on fortune.
like to be played with, and rumpled a little too sometimes. But she has
told no tales I assure you.
MARL. I never gave her the slightest cause.
HARD. Well, well, I like modesty in its place well enough. But this is
over-acting, young gentleman. You _may_ be open. Your father and I will
like you the better for it.
MARL. May I die, sir, if I ever——
HARD. I tell you, she don't dislike you; and as I'm sure you like her——
MARL. Dear sir—I protest, sir——
HARD. I see no reason why you should not be joined as fast as the
parson can tie you.
MARL. But hear me, sir——
HARD. Your father approves the match, I admire it, every moment's delay
will be doing mischief, so——
MARL. But why won't you hear me? By all that's just and true, I never
gave Miss Hardcastle the slightest mark of my attachment, or even the
most distant hint to suspect me of affection. We had but one interview,
and that was formal, modest and uninteresting.
HARD. (_Aside. _). This fellow's formal modest impudence is beyond
bearing.
SIR CHARLES. And you never grasped her hand, or made any protestations?
MARL. As Heaven is my witness, I came down in obedience to your
commands. I saw the lady without emotion, and parted without
reluctance. I hope you'll exact no further proofs of my duty, nor
prevent me from leaving a house in which I suffer so many
mortifications.
_Exit. _
SIR CHARLES. I'm astonished at the air of sincerity with which he
parted.
HARD. And I'm astonished at the deliberate intrepidity of his
assurance.
SIR CHARLES. I dare pledge my life and honour upon his truth.
HARD. Here comes my daughter, and I would stake my happiness upon her
veracity.
_Enter_ MISS HARDCASTLE.
HARD. Kate, come hither, child. Answer us sincerely, and without
reserve: has Mr. Marlow made you any professions of love and affection?
MISS HARD. The question is very abrupt, sir! But since you require
unreserved sincerity, I think he has.
HARD. (_To_ SIR CHARLES. ) You see.
SIR CHARLES. And pray, madam, have you and my son had more than one
interview?
MISS HARD. Yes, sir, several.
HARD. (_To_ SIR CHARLES. ) You see.
SIR CHARLES. But did he profess any attachment?
MISS HARD. A lasting one.
SIR CHARLES. Did he talk of love?
MISS HARD. Much, sir.
SIR CHARLES. Amazing! and all this formally?
MISS HARD. Formally.
HARD. Now, my friend, I hope you are satisfied?
SIR CHARLES. And how did he behave, madam?
MISS HARD. As most professed admirers do. Said some civil things of my
face: talked much of his want of merit, and the greatness of mine;
mentioned his heart; gave a short tragedy speech, and ended with
pretended rapture.
SIR CHARLES. Now I'm perfectly convinced, indeed. I know his
conversation among women to be modest and submissive. This forward,
canting, ranting manner by no means describes him, and I am confident
he never sat for the picture.
MISS HARD. Then what, sir, if I should convince you to your face of my
sincerity? If you and my papa, in about half-an-hour, will place
yourselves behind that screen, you shall hear him declare his passion
to me in person.
SIR CHARLES. Agreed. And if I find him what you describe, all my
happiness in him must have an end.
_Exit. _
MISS HARD. And if you don't find him what I describe—I fear my
happiness must never have a beginning.
_Exeunt. _
_Scene changes to the back of the garden. _
_Enter_ HASTINGS.
HAST. What an idiot am I, to wait here for a fellow who probably takes
a delight in mortifying me. He never intended to be punctual, and I'll
wait no longer. What do I see? It is he, and perhaps with news of my
Constance.
_Enter_ TONY, _booted and spattered_.
HAST. My honest 'squire! I now find you a man of your word. This looks
like friendship.
TONY. Ay, I'm your friend, and the best friend you have in the world,
if you knew but all. This riding by night, by-the-by, is cursedly
tiresome. It has shook me worse than the basket of a stage-coach.
HAST. But how? Where did you leave your fellow travellers? Are they in
safety! Are they housed?
TONY. Five-and-twenty miles in two hours and a half is no such bad
driving. The poor beasts have smoked for it. Rabbet me, but I'd rather
ride forty miles after a fox, than ten with such _varment_.
HAST. Well, but where have you left the ladies? I die with impatience.
TONY. Left them? Why where should I leave them but where I found them.
HAST. This is a riddle.
TONY. Riddle me this, then. What's that goes round the house, and round
the house and never touches the house?
HAST. I'm still astray.
TONY. Why that's it, mon. I have led them astray. By jingo, there's not
a pond or slough within five miles of the place, but they can tell the
taste of.
HAST. Ha, ha, ha! I understand: you took them in a round, while they
supposed themselves going forward. And so you have at last brought them
home again.
TONY. You shall hear. I first took them down Feather-bed-lane, where we
stuck fast in the mud. I then rattled them crack over the stones of
Up-and-down Hill—I then introduced them to the gibbet, on Heavy-tree
Heath; and from that, with a circumbendibus, I fairly lodged them in
the horse-pond at the bottom of the garden.
HAST. But no accident, I hope.
TONY. No, no. Only mother is confoundedly frightened. She thinks
herself forty miles off. She's sick of the journey, and the cattle can
scarce crawl. So if your own horses be ready, you may whip off with
cousin, and I'll be bound that no soul here can budge a foot to follow
you.
HAST. My dear friend, how can I be grateful?
TONY. Ay, now it's dear friend, noble 'squire. Just now, it was all
idiot, cub, and run me through the guts. Damn _your_ way of fighting, I
say. After we take a knock in this part of the country, we kiss and be
friends. But, if you had run me through the guts, then I should be
dead, and you might go kiss the hangman.
HAST. The rebuke is just. But I must hasten to relieve Miss Neville; if
you keep the old lady employed, I promise to take care of the young
one.
_Exit_ HASTINGS.
TONY. Never fear me. Here she comes. Vanish. She's got from the pond,
and draggled up to the waist like a mermaid.
_Enter_ MRS. HARDCASTLE.
MRS. HARD. Oh, Tony, I'm killed. Shook. Battered to death. I shall
never survive it. That last jolt, that laid us against the quickset
hedge, has done my business.
TONY. Alack, mamma, it was all your own fault. You would be for running
away by night, without knowing one inch of the way.
MRS. HARD. I wish we were at home again. I never met so many accidents
in so short a journey. Drenched in the mud, overturned in a ditch,
stuck fast in a slough, jolted to a jelly, and at last to lose our way!
Whereabouts do you think we are, Tony?
TONY. By my guess we should be upon Crackskull Common, about forty
miles from home.
MRS. HARD. O lud! O lud! the most notorious spot in all the country. We
only want a robbery to make a complete night on't.
[Illustration:
TONY. —"_Don't be afraid, mamma. _"—_p. _ 371.
]
TONY. Don't be afraid, mamma, don't be afraid. Two of the five that
kept here are hanged, and the other three may not find us. Don't be
afraid.
Is that a man that's galloping behind us? No; it's only a tree.
Don't be afraid.
MRS. HARD. The fright will certainly kill me.
TONY. Do you see anything like a black hat moving behind the thicket?
MRS. HARD. O death!
TONY. No, it's only a cow. Don't be afraid, mamma: don't be afraid.
MRS. HARD. As I'm alive, Tony, I see a man coming towards us. Ah! I'm
sure on't. If he perceives us we are undone.
TONY (_Aside. _) Father-in-law, by all that's unlucky, come to take one
of his night walks. (_To her. _) Ah! it's a highwayman, with pistols as
long as my arm. A damn'd ill looking fellow.
MRS. HARD. Good Heaven defend us! He approaches.
TONY. Do you hide yourself in that thicket, and leave me to manage him.
If there be any danger I'll cough, and cry—hem! When I cough, be sure
to keep close.
MRS. HARDCASTLE _hides behind a tree, in the back scene_.
_Enter_ HARDCASTLE.
HARD. I'm mistaken, or I heard voices of people in want of help. O,
Tony, is that you? I did not expect you so soon back. Are your mother
and her charge in safety?
TONY. Very safe, sir, at my aunt Pedigree's. Hem!
MRS. HARD. (_From behind. _). Ah, death! I find there's danger.
HARD. Forty miles in three hours; sure that's too much, my youngster.
TONY. Stout horses and willing minds make short journeys, as they say.
Hem!
MRS. HARD. (_From behind. _) Sure he'll do the dear boy no harm.
HARD. But I heard a voice here; I should be glad to know from whence it
came.
TONY. It was I, sir; talking to myself, sir. I was saying, that forty
miles in three hours, was very good going—hem! As, to be sure, it
was—hem! I have got a sort of cold by being out in the air. We'll go
in, if you please—hem!
HARD. But if you talked to yourself, you did not answer yourself. I am
certain I heard two voices, and am resolved (_Raising his voice_) to
find the other out.
MRS. HARD. (_From behind. _) Oh! he's coming to find me out. Oh!
TONY. What need you go, sir, if I tell you—hem! I'll lay down my life
for the truth—hem! I'll tell you all, sir.
_Detaining him. _
HARD. I tell you, I will not be detained. I insist on seeing. It's in
vain to expect I'll believe you.
MRS. HARD. (_Running forward from behind. _) O lud, he'll murder my poor
boy, my darling. Here, good gentleman, whet your rage upon me. Take my
money, my life; but spare that young gentleman, spare my child, if you
have any mercy.
HARD. My wife! as I'm a Christian. From whence can she come, or what
does she mean?
MRS. HARD. (_Kneeling. _) Take compassion on us, good Mr. Highwayman.
Take our money, our watches, all we have; but spare our lives. We will
never bring you to justice; indeed we won't, good Mr. Highwayman.
HARD. I believe the woman's out of her senses. What, Dorothy, don't you
know _me_?
MRS. HARD. Mr. Hardcastle, as I'm alive! My fears blinded me. But who,
my dear, could have expected to meet you here, in this frightful place,
so far from home? What has brought you to follow us?
HARD. Sure, Dorothy, you have not lost your wits? So far from home,
when you are within forty yards of your own door? (_To him. _) This is
one of your old tricks, you graceless rogue you. (_To her. _) Don't you
know the gate, and the mulberry-tree? and don't you remember the
horse-pond, my dear?
MRS. HARD. Yes, I shall remember the horse-pond as long as I live: I
have caught my death in it. (_To_ TONY. ) And is it to you, you
graceless varlet, I owe all this? I'll teach you to abuse your mother,
I will.
TONY. Ecod, mother, all the parish says you have spoiled me, and so you
may take the fruits on't.
MRS. HARD. I'll spoil you, I will.
_Follows him off the stage. _ _Exit. _
HARD. There's morality, however, in his reply.
_Exit. _
_Enter_ HASTINGS _and_ MISS NEVILLE.
HAST. My dear Constance, why will you deliberate thus? If we delay a
moment, all is lost for ever. Pluck up a little resolution, and we
shall soon be out of the reach of her malignity.
MISS NEV. I find it impossible. My spirits are so sunk with the
agitations I have suffered, that I am unable to face any new danger.
Two or three years' patience will at last crown us with happiness.
HAST. Such a tedious delay is worse than inconstancy. Let us fly, my
charmer. Let us date our happiness from this very moment. Perish
fortune. Love and content will increase what we possess, beyond a
monarch's revenue. Let me prevail.
MISS NEV. No, Mr. Hastings; no. Prudence once more comes to my relief,
and I will obey its dictates. In the moment of passion, fortune may be
despised; but it ever produces a lasting repentance. I am resolved to
apply to Mr. Hardcastle's compassion and justice for redress.
HAST. But though he had the will, he has not the power, to relieve you.
MISS NEV. But he has influence, and upon that I am resolved to rely.
HAST. I have no hopes. But since you persist, I must reluctantly obey
you.
_Exeunt. _
_Scene changes. _
_Enter_ SIR CHARLES _and_ MISS HARDCASTLE.
SIR CHARLES. What a situation am I in! If what you say appears, I shall
then find a guilty son. If what he says be true, I shall then lose one
that, of all others, I most wished for a daughter.
MISS HARD. I am proud of your approbation, and to show I merit it, if
you place yourselves as I directed, you shall hear his explicit
declaration. But he comes.
SIR CHARLES. I'll to your father, and keep him to the appointment.
_Exit_ SIR CHARLES.
_Enter_ MARLOW.
MARL. Though prepared for setting out, I come once more to take leave;
nor did I, till this moment, know the pain I feel in the separation.
MISS HARD. (_In her own natural manner. _) I believe these sufferings
cannot be very great, sir, which you can so easily remove. A day or two
longer, perhaps, might lessen your uneasiness, by showing the little
value of what you now think proper to regret.
MARL. (_Aside. _) This girl every moment improves upon me. (_To her. _)
It must not be, madam. I have already trifled too long with my heart.
My very pride begins to submit to my passion. The disparity of
education and fortune, the anger of a parent, and the contempt of my
equals, begin to lose their weight, and nothing can restore me to
myself, but this painful effort of resolution.
MISS HARD. Then go, sir. I'll urge nothing more to detain you. Though
my family be as good as hers you came down to visit; and my education,
I hope, not inferior, what are these advantages, without equal
affluence? I must remain contented with the slight approbation of
imputed merit; I must have only the mockery of your addresses, while
all your serious aims are fixed on fortune.
