Then there's a
mahogany
table, that you may see your own face in.
Oliver Goldsmith
Some women, you mean.
But what success has your honour's modesty
been crowned with now, that it grows so insolent upon us?
MARL. Didn't you see the tempting, brisk, lovely, little thing, that
runs about the house, with a bunch of keys to its girdle?
HAST. Well, and what then?
MARL. She's mine, you rogue you. Such fire, such motion, such eyes,
such lips—but, egad! she would not let me kiss them though.
HAST. But are you so sure, so very sure of her?
MARL. Why man, she talked of showing me her work above-stairs, and I'm
to improve the pattern.
HAST. But how can _you_, Charles, go about to rob a woman of her
honour?
MARL. 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.
HAST. I believe the girl has virtue.
MARL. And if she has, I should be the last man in the world that would
attempt to corrupt it.
HAST. You have taken care, I hope, of the casket I sent you to lock up?
Is it in safety?
MARL. 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! numb-skull! I have taken better precautions for you than
you did for yourself. —I have—
HAST. What?
MARL. I have sent it to the landlady, to keep for you.
HAST. To the landlady!
MARL. The landlady.
HAST. You did!
MARL. I did. She's to be answerable for its forthcoming, you know.
HAST. Yes, she'll bring it forth, with a witness.
MARL. Wasn't I right? I believe you'll allow that I acted prudently
upon this occasion.
HAST. (_Aside. _) He must not see my uneasiness.
_Marl. _ You seem a little disconcerted though, methinks. Sure nothing
has happened.
HAST. 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?
MARL. 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!
HAST. He! he! he! They are safe, however.
MARL. As a guinea in a miser'spurse.
HAST. (_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. _
MARL. Thank ye, George! I ask no more; ha! ha! ha!
_Enter_ HARDCASTLE.
HARD. 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. _
MARL. Sir, your humble servant. (_Aside. _) What's to be the wonder now?
HARD. 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.
MARL. I do, from my soul, sir. I don't want much entreaty. I generally
make my father's son welcome wherever he goes.
HARD. 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.
[Illustration:
HARDCASTLE. —"_I'm your very humble servant. _"—_p. _ 358.
]
MARL. I protest, my very good sir, that's 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.
HARD. Then, they had your orders for what they do! I'm satisfied.
MARL. They had, I assure you. You shall hear from one of themselves.
_Enter_ SERVANT, _drunk_.
MARL. 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?
HARD. (_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. _)—upon my conscience, sir.
MARL. 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.
HARD. 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.
MARL. Leave your house? —Sure you jest, my good friend! What, when I'm
doing what I can to please you?
HARD. I tell you, sir, you don't please me; so I desire you'll leave my
house.
MARL. Sure you cannot be serious! At this time o'night, and such a
night! You only mean to banter me.
HARD. 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!
MARL. 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.
HARD. 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!
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.
MARL. Bring me your bill, sir, bring me your bill, and let's make no
more words about it.
HARD. There are a set of prints too. What think you of the Rake's
Progress for your own apartment?
MARL. Bring me your bill, I say; and I'll leave you and your infernal
house directly.
HARD.
Then there's a mahogany table, that you may see your own face in.
MARL. My bill, I say.
HARD. I had forgot the great chair, for your own particular slumbers,
after a hearty meal.
MARL. Zounds! bring me my bill, I say; and let's hear no more on't.
HARD. 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. _
[Illustration:
MISS HARDCASTLE. —"_Let it be short, then. _"—_p. _ 361.
]
MARL. 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 HARD. Let it be short then. I'm in a hurry, (_Aside. _) I believe
he begins to find out his mistake; but it's too soon quite to undeceive
him.
MARL. Pray, child, answer me one question. —What are you, and what may
your business in this house be?
MISS HARD. A relation of the family, sir.
MARL. What; a poor relation?
MISS HARD. Yes, sir; a poor relation, appointed to keep the keys, and
to see that the guests want nothing in my power to give them.
MARL. That is, you act as the bar-maid of this inn.
MISS HARD. O law! —What brought that in your head? One of the best
families in the county keep an inn! Ha! ha! ha! old Mr. Hardcastle's
house an inn!
MARL. Mr. Hardcastle's house? Is this house Mr. Hardcastle's house,
child?
MISS HARD. Ay, sure. Whose else should it be?
MARL. 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 inn-keeper! 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 HARD. Dear me! dear me! I'm sure there's nothing in my _behaviour_
to put me upon a level with one of that stamp.
MARL. 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 HARD. 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.
MARL. (_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, make an honourable connexion impossible;
and I can never harbour a thought of bringing ruin upon one, whose only
fault was being too lovely.
MISS HARD. (_Aside. _) Generous man! I now begin to admire him. (_To
him. _) But I'm 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.
MARL. And why now, my pretty simplicity?
MISS HARD. Because it puts me a distance from one, that if I had a
thousand pound I would give it all too.
MARL. (_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 HARD. 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, 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 NEV. 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 damn'd 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. HARD. 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. HARD. A mere sprinkling, Tony, upon the flame, only to make it
burn brighter.
MISS NEV. 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 NEV. Agreeable cousin! Who can help admiring that natural humour,
that pleasant, broad, red, thoughtless, (_patting his cheek_) ah! it's
a bold face.
MRS. HARD. Pretty innocence!
TONY. I'm sure I always loved cousin Con's hazel eyes, and her pretty
long fingers, that she twists this way and that, over the haspicholls,
like a parcel of bobbins.
MRS. HARD. 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 to-morrow,
and we'll put off the rest of his education, like Mr. Drowsy's sermons,
to a fitter opportunity.
_Enter_ DIGGORY.
DIGG. Where's the 'squire? I have got a letter for your worship.
TONY. Give it to my mamma. She reads all my letters first.
DIGG. I had orders to deliver it into your own hands.
TONY. Who does it come from?
DIGG. Your worship mun ask that o' the letter itself.
TONY. I could wish to know, though (_turning the letter and gazing on
it_).
MISS NEV. (_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.
been crowned with now, that it grows so insolent upon us?
MARL. Didn't you see the tempting, brisk, lovely, little thing, that
runs about the house, with a bunch of keys to its girdle?
HAST. Well, and what then?
MARL. She's mine, you rogue you. Such fire, such motion, such eyes,
such lips—but, egad! she would not let me kiss them though.
HAST. But are you so sure, so very sure of her?
MARL. Why man, she talked of showing me her work above-stairs, and I'm
to improve the pattern.
HAST. But how can _you_, Charles, go about to rob a woman of her
honour?
MARL. 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.
HAST. I believe the girl has virtue.
MARL. And if she has, I should be the last man in the world that would
attempt to corrupt it.
HAST. You have taken care, I hope, of the casket I sent you to lock up?
Is it in safety?
MARL. 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! numb-skull! I have taken better precautions for you than
you did for yourself. —I have—
HAST. What?
MARL. I have sent it to the landlady, to keep for you.
HAST. To the landlady!
MARL. The landlady.
HAST. You did!
MARL. I did. She's to be answerable for its forthcoming, you know.
HAST. Yes, she'll bring it forth, with a witness.
MARL. Wasn't I right? I believe you'll allow that I acted prudently
upon this occasion.
HAST. (_Aside. _) He must not see my uneasiness.
_Marl. _ You seem a little disconcerted though, methinks. Sure nothing
has happened.
HAST. 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?
MARL. 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!
HAST. He! he! he! They are safe, however.
MARL. As a guinea in a miser'spurse.
HAST. (_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. _
MARL. Thank ye, George! I ask no more; ha! ha! ha!
_Enter_ HARDCASTLE.
HARD. 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. _
MARL. Sir, your humble servant. (_Aside. _) What's to be the wonder now?
HARD. 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.
MARL. I do, from my soul, sir. I don't want much entreaty. I generally
make my father's son welcome wherever he goes.
HARD. 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.
[Illustration:
HARDCASTLE. —"_I'm your very humble servant. _"—_p. _ 358.
]
MARL. I protest, my very good sir, that's 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.
HARD. Then, they had your orders for what they do! I'm satisfied.
MARL. They had, I assure you. You shall hear from one of themselves.
_Enter_ SERVANT, _drunk_.
MARL. 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?
HARD. (_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. _)—upon my conscience, sir.
MARL. 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.
HARD. 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.
MARL. Leave your house? —Sure you jest, my good friend! What, when I'm
doing what I can to please you?
HARD. I tell you, sir, you don't please me; so I desire you'll leave my
house.
MARL. Sure you cannot be serious! At this time o'night, and such a
night! You only mean to banter me.
HARD. 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!
MARL. 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.
HARD. 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!
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.
MARL. Bring me your bill, sir, bring me your bill, and let's make no
more words about it.
HARD. There are a set of prints too. What think you of the Rake's
Progress for your own apartment?
MARL. Bring me your bill, I say; and I'll leave you and your infernal
house directly.
HARD.
Then there's a mahogany table, that you may see your own face in.
MARL. My bill, I say.
HARD. I had forgot the great chair, for your own particular slumbers,
after a hearty meal.
MARL. Zounds! bring me my bill, I say; and let's hear no more on't.
HARD. 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. _
[Illustration:
MISS HARDCASTLE. —"_Let it be short, then. _"—_p. _ 361.
]
MARL. 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 HARD. Let it be short then. I'm in a hurry, (_Aside. _) I believe
he begins to find out his mistake; but it's too soon quite to undeceive
him.
MARL. Pray, child, answer me one question. —What are you, and what may
your business in this house be?
MISS HARD. A relation of the family, sir.
MARL. What; a poor relation?
MISS HARD. Yes, sir; a poor relation, appointed to keep the keys, and
to see that the guests want nothing in my power to give them.
MARL. That is, you act as the bar-maid of this inn.
MISS HARD. O law! —What brought that in your head? One of the best
families in the county keep an inn! Ha! ha! ha! old Mr. Hardcastle's
house an inn!
MARL. Mr. Hardcastle's house? Is this house Mr. Hardcastle's house,
child?
MISS HARD. Ay, sure. Whose else should it be?
MARL. 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 inn-keeper! 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 HARD. Dear me! dear me! I'm sure there's nothing in my _behaviour_
to put me upon a level with one of that stamp.
MARL. 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 HARD. 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.
MARL. (_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, make an honourable connexion impossible;
and I can never harbour a thought of bringing ruin upon one, whose only
fault was being too lovely.
MISS HARD. (_Aside. _) Generous man! I now begin to admire him. (_To
him. _) But I'm 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.
MARL. And why now, my pretty simplicity?
MISS HARD. Because it puts me a distance from one, that if I had a
thousand pound I would give it all too.
MARL. (_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 HARD. 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, 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 NEV. 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 damn'd 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. HARD. 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. HARD. A mere sprinkling, Tony, upon the flame, only to make it
burn brighter.
MISS NEV. 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 NEV. Agreeable cousin! Who can help admiring that natural humour,
that pleasant, broad, red, thoughtless, (_patting his cheek_) ah! it's
a bold face.
MRS. HARD. Pretty innocence!
TONY. I'm sure I always loved cousin Con's hazel eyes, and her pretty
long fingers, that she twists this way and that, over the haspicholls,
like a parcel of bobbins.
MRS. HARD. 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 to-morrow,
and we'll put off the rest of his education, like Mr. Drowsy's sermons,
to a fitter opportunity.
_Enter_ DIGGORY.
DIGG. Where's the 'squire? I have got a letter for your worship.
TONY. Give it to my mamma. She reads all my letters first.
DIGG. I had orders to deliver it into your own hands.
TONY. Who does it come from?
DIGG. Your worship mun ask that o' the letter itself.
TONY. I could wish to know, though (_turning the letter and gazing on
it_).
MISS NEV. (_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.
