I embroider and draw
patterns
myself a little.
Oliver Goldsmith
Do you
laugh, you unfeeling brute, as if you enjoyed my distress?
TONY. I can bear witness to that.
MRS. HARD. Do you insult me, monster? I'll teach you to vex your
mother, I will.
TONY. I can bear witness to that.
_He runs off, she follows him. _
_Enter_ MISS HARDCASTLE _and_ MAID.
MISS HARD. What an unaccountable creature is that brother of mine, to
send them to the house as an inn, ha! ha! I don't wonder at his
impudence.
MAID. But what is more, madam, the young gentlemen, as you passed by in
your present dress, asked me if you were the bar-maid? He mistook you
for the bar-maid, madam.
MISS HARD. Did he? Then, as I live, I'm resolved to keep up the
delusion. Tell me, Pimple, how do you like my present dress? Don't you
think I look something like Cherry in the Beaux' Stratagem?
MAID. It's the dress, madam, that every lady wears in the country, but
when she visits or receives company.
MISS HARD. And are you sure he does not remember my face or person?
MAID. Certain of it.
MISS HARD. I vow, I thought so; for though we spoke for some time
together, yet his fears were such, that he never once looked up during
the interview. Indeed, if he had, my bonnet would have kept him from
seeing me.
MAID. But what do you hope from keeping him in his mistake?
MISS HARD. In the first place I shall be _seen_, and that is no small
advantage to a girl who brings her face to market. Then I shall,
perhaps, make an acquaintance, and that's no small victory gained over
one, who never addresses any but the wildest of her sex. But my chief
aim is to take my gentleman off his guard, and, like an invisible
champion of romance, examine the giant's force before I offer to
combat.
MAID. But are you sure you can act your part, and disguise your voice,
so that he may mistake that, as he has already mistaken your person?
MISS HARD. Never fear me. I think I have got the true bar-cant—Did your
honour call? —Attend the Lion there. —Pipes and tobacco for the
Angel. —The Lamb has been outrageous this half-hour.
MAID. It will do, madam. But he's here.
_Exit_ MAID.
_Enter_ MARLOW.
MARL. What a bawling in every part of the house! I have scarce a
moment's repose. If I go to the best room, there I find my host and his
story. If I fly to the gallery, there we have my hostess, with her
curtesy down to the ground. I have at last got a moment to myself, and
now for recollection.
_Walks and muses. _
MISS HARD. Did you call, sir? Did your honour call?
MARL. (_Musing_). As for Miss Hardcastle, she's too grave and
sentimental for me.
MISS HARD. Did your honour call?
_She still places herself before him, he turning away. _
MARL. No, child. (_Musing. _) Besides, from the glimpse I had of her, I
think she squints.
MISS HARD. I'm sure, sir, I heard the bell ring.
MARL. No, no. (_Musing. _) I have pleased my father, however, by coming
down, and I'll to-morrow please myself by returning.
_Taking out his tablets, and perusing. _
MISS HARD. Perhaps the other gentleman called, sir.
MARL. I tell you, no.
MISS HARD. I should be glad to know, sir. We have such a parcel of
servants.
MARL. No, no, I'll tell you. (_Looks full in her face. _) Yes, child, I
think I did call. I wanted—I wanted—I vow, child, you are vastly
handsome.
MISS HARD. O la, sir, you'll make one ashamed.
MARL. Never saw a more sprightly malicious eye. Yes, yes, my dear, I
did call. Have you got any of your—a—what d'ye call it, in the house?
MISS HARD. No, sir, we have been out of that these ten days.
MARL. One may call in this house, I find, to very little purpose.
Suppose I should call for a taste, just by way of trial, of the nectar
of your lips; perhaps I might be disappointed in that too.
MISS HARD. Nectar! nectar! that's a liquor there's no call for in these
parts. French, I suppose. We keep no French wines here, sir.
MARL. Of true English growth, I assure you.
MISS HARD. Then it's odd I should not know it. We brew all sorts of
wines in this house, and I have lived here these eighteen years.
MARL. Eighteen years? Why, one would think, child, you kept the bar
before you were born. How old are you?
MISS HARD. O! sir, I must not tell my age. They say women and music
should never be dated.
MARL. To guess at this distance, you can't be much above forty.
(_Approaching. _) Yet, nearer, I don't think so much. (_Approaching. _)
By coming close to some women they look younger still; but when we come
very close indeed——
_Attempting to kiss her. _
MISS HARD. Pray, sir, keep your distance. One would think you wanted to
know one's age as they do horses, by mark of mouth.
MARL. I protest, child, you use me extremely ill. If you keep me at
this distance, how is it possible you and I can be ever acquainted?
MISS HARD. And who wants to be acquainted with you? I want no such
acquaintance, not I. I'm sure you did not treat Miss Hardcastle, that
was here a while ago, in this obstropalous manner. I'll warrant me,
before her you looked dashed, and kept bowing to the ground, and
talked, for all the world, as if you was before a justice of peace.
MARL. (_Aside. _) Egad! she has hit it, sure enough. (_To her. _) In awe
of her, child? Ha! ha! ha! A mere awkward, squinting thing; no, no. I
find you don't know me. I laughed, and rallied her a little; but I was
unwilling to be too severe. No, I could not be too severe, _curse me_!
MISS HARD. O! then, sir, you are a favourite, I find, among the ladies.
MARL. Yes, my dear, a great favourite. And yet, hang me, I don't see
what they find in me to follow. At the ladies' club in town, I'm called
their agreeable Rattle. Rattle, child, is not my real name, but one I'm
known by. My name is Solomons. Mr. Solomons, my dear, at your service.
_Offering to salute her. _
[Illustration:
MARLOW. —"_And why not now, my angel? _"—_p. _ 356.
]
MISS HARD. Hold, sir; you were introducing me to your club, not to
yourself. And you're so great a favourite there, you say?
MARL. Yes, my dear; there's Mrs. Mantrap, lady Betty Blackleg, the
countess of Sligo, Mrs. Longhorns, old Miss Biddy Buckskin, and your
humble servant, keep up the spirit of the place.
MISS HARD. Then it's a very merry place, I suppose.
MARL. Yes; as merry as cards, suppers, wine, and old women, can make
us.
MISS HARD. And their agreeable Rattle; ha! ha! ha!
MARL. (_Aside. _) Egad! I don't quite like this chit. She looks knowing,
methinks. You laugh, child!
MISS HARD. I can't but laugh to think what time they all have for
minding their work or their family.
MARL. (_Aside. _) All's well, she don't laugh at me. (_To her. _ ) Do
_you_ ever work, child?
MISS HARD. Ay, sure. There's not a screen or a quilt in the whole house
but what can bear witness to that.
MARL. Odso! Then you must show me your embroidery.
I embroider and draw patterns myself a little. If you want a judge of your work, you must
apply to me.
_Seizing her hand. _
MISS HARD. Ay, but the colours don't look well by candle-light. You
shall see all in the morning.
_Struggling. _
MARL. And why not now, my angel? Such beauty fires beyond the power of
resistance. —Pshaw! the father here! My old luck: I never nicked seven,
that I did not throw ames-ace three times following.
_Exit_ MARLOW.
_Enter_ HARDCASTLE, _who stands in surprise_.
HARD. So, madam! So I find _this_ is your _modest_ lover. This is your
humble admirer, that kept his eyes, fixed on the ground, and only
adored at humble distance. Kate, Kate, art thou not ashamed to deceive
your father so?
MISS HARD. Never trust me, dear papa, but he's still the modest man I
first took him for, you'll be convinced of it as well as I.
HARD. By the hand of my body, I believe his impudence is infectious!
Didn't I see him seize your hand? Didn't I see him haul you about like
a milk-maid? and now you talk of his respect and his modesty, forsooth!
MISS HARD. But if I shortly convince you of his modesty; that he has
only the faults that will pass off with time, and the virtues that will
improve with age; I hope you'll forgive him.
HARD. The girl would actually make one run mad; I tell you, I will not
be convinced. I am convinced. He has scarcely been three hours in the
house, and he has already encroached on all my prerogatives. You may
like his impudence, and call it modesty; but my son-in-law, madam, must
have very different qualifications.
MISS HARD. Sir, I ask but this night to convince you.
HARD. You shall not have half the time; for I have thoughts of turning
him out this very hour.
MISS HARD. Give me that hour, then, and I hope to satisfy you.
HARD. Well, an hour let it be then. But I'll have no trifling with your
father. All fair and open, do you mind me?
MISS HARD. I hope, sir, you have ever found that I considered your
commands as my pride; for your kindness is such, that my duty as yet
has been inclination.
_Exeunt. _
ACT IV.
_Enter_ HASTINGS _and_ MISS NEVILLE.
HAST. You surprise me! Sir Charles Marlow expected here this night?
Where have you had your information?
MISS NEV. 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.
HAST. 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 NEV. The jewels, I hope, are safe.
HAST. Yes, yes. I have sent them to Marlow, who keeps the keys of our
baggage. In the meantime, 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 NEV. Well! success attend you. In the meantime, I'll go amuse my
aunt with the old pretence of a violent passion for my cousin.
_Exit. _
_Enter_ MARLOW _followed by a_ SERVANT.
MARL. 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?
SERV. Yes, your honour.
MARL. She said she'd keep it safe, did she?
SERV. 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. _
MARL. 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.
_Enter_ HASTINGS.
HAST. 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!
MARL. 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.
HAST. 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.
laugh, you unfeeling brute, as if you enjoyed my distress?
TONY. I can bear witness to that.
MRS. HARD. Do you insult me, monster? I'll teach you to vex your
mother, I will.
TONY. I can bear witness to that.
_He runs off, she follows him. _
_Enter_ MISS HARDCASTLE _and_ MAID.
MISS HARD. What an unaccountable creature is that brother of mine, to
send them to the house as an inn, ha! ha! I don't wonder at his
impudence.
MAID. But what is more, madam, the young gentlemen, as you passed by in
your present dress, asked me if you were the bar-maid? He mistook you
for the bar-maid, madam.
MISS HARD. Did he? Then, as I live, I'm resolved to keep up the
delusion. Tell me, Pimple, how do you like my present dress? Don't you
think I look something like Cherry in the Beaux' Stratagem?
MAID. It's the dress, madam, that every lady wears in the country, but
when she visits or receives company.
MISS HARD. And are you sure he does not remember my face or person?
MAID. Certain of it.
MISS HARD. I vow, I thought so; for though we spoke for some time
together, yet his fears were such, that he never once looked up during
the interview. Indeed, if he had, my bonnet would have kept him from
seeing me.
MAID. But what do you hope from keeping him in his mistake?
MISS HARD. In the first place I shall be _seen_, and that is no small
advantage to a girl who brings her face to market. Then I shall,
perhaps, make an acquaintance, and that's no small victory gained over
one, who never addresses any but the wildest of her sex. But my chief
aim is to take my gentleman off his guard, and, like an invisible
champion of romance, examine the giant's force before I offer to
combat.
MAID. But are you sure you can act your part, and disguise your voice,
so that he may mistake that, as he has already mistaken your person?
MISS HARD. Never fear me. I think I have got the true bar-cant—Did your
honour call? —Attend the Lion there. —Pipes and tobacco for the
Angel. —The Lamb has been outrageous this half-hour.
MAID. It will do, madam. But he's here.
_Exit_ MAID.
_Enter_ MARLOW.
MARL. What a bawling in every part of the house! I have scarce a
moment's repose. If I go to the best room, there I find my host and his
story. If I fly to the gallery, there we have my hostess, with her
curtesy down to the ground. I have at last got a moment to myself, and
now for recollection.
_Walks and muses. _
MISS HARD. Did you call, sir? Did your honour call?
MARL. (_Musing_). As for Miss Hardcastle, she's too grave and
sentimental for me.
MISS HARD. Did your honour call?
_She still places herself before him, he turning away. _
MARL. No, child. (_Musing. _) Besides, from the glimpse I had of her, I
think she squints.
MISS HARD. I'm sure, sir, I heard the bell ring.
MARL. No, no. (_Musing. _) I have pleased my father, however, by coming
down, and I'll to-morrow please myself by returning.
_Taking out his tablets, and perusing. _
MISS HARD. Perhaps the other gentleman called, sir.
MARL. I tell you, no.
MISS HARD. I should be glad to know, sir. We have such a parcel of
servants.
MARL. No, no, I'll tell you. (_Looks full in her face. _) Yes, child, I
think I did call. I wanted—I wanted—I vow, child, you are vastly
handsome.
MISS HARD. O la, sir, you'll make one ashamed.
MARL. Never saw a more sprightly malicious eye. Yes, yes, my dear, I
did call. Have you got any of your—a—what d'ye call it, in the house?
MISS HARD. No, sir, we have been out of that these ten days.
MARL. One may call in this house, I find, to very little purpose.
Suppose I should call for a taste, just by way of trial, of the nectar
of your lips; perhaps I might be disappointed in that too.
MISS HARD. Nectar! nectar! that's a liquor there's no call for in these
parts. French, I suppose. We keep no French wines here, sir.
MARL. Of true English growth, I assure you.
MISS HARD. Then it's odd I should not know it. We brew all sorts of
wines in this house, and I have lived here these eighteen years.
MARL. Eighteen years? Why, one would think, child, you kept the bar
before you were born. How old are you?
MISS HARD. O! sir, I must not tell my age. They say women and music
should never be dated.
MARL. To guess at this distance, you can't be much above forty.
(_Approaching. _) Yet, nearer, I don't think so much. (_Approaching. _)
By coming close to some women they look younger still; but when we come
very close indeed——
_Attempting to kiss her. _
MISS HARD. Pray, sir, keep your distance. One would think you wanted to
know one's age as they do horses, by mark of mouth.
MARL. I protest, child, you use me extremely ill. If you keep me at
this distance, how is it possible you and I can be ever acquainted?
MISS HARD. And who wants to be acquainted with you? I want no such
acquaintance, not I. I'm sure you did not treat Miss Hardcastle, that
was here a while ago, in this obstropalous manner. I'll warrant me,
before her you looked dashed, and kept bowing to the ground, and
talked, for all the world, as if you was before a justice of peace.
MARL. (_Aside. _) Egad! she has hit it, sure enough. (_To her. _) In awe
of her, child? Ha! ha! ha! A mere awkward, squinting thing; no, no. I
find you don't know me. I laughed, and rallied her a little; but I was
unwilling to be too severe. No, I could not be too severe, _curse me_!
MISS HARD. O! then, sir, you are a favourite, I find, among the ladies.
MARL. Yes, my dear, a great favourite. And yet, hang me, I don't see
what they find in me to follow. At the ladies' club in town, I'm called
their agreeable Rattle. Rattle, child, is not my real name, but one I'm
known by. My name is Solomons. Mr. Solomons, my dear, at your service.
_Offering to salute her. _
[Illustration:
MARLOW. —"_And why not now, my angel? _"—_p. _ 356.
]
MISS HARD. Hold, sir; you were introducing me to your club, not to
yourself. And you're so great a favourite there, you say?
MARL. Yes, my dear; there's Mrs. Mantrap, lady Betty Blackleg, the
countess of Sligo, Mrs. Longhorns, old Miss Biddy Buckskin, and your
humble servant, keep up the spirit of the place.
MISS HARD. Then it's a very merry place, I suppose.
MARL. Yes; as merry as cards, suppers, wine, and old women, can make
us.
MISS HARD. And their agreeable Rattle; ha! ha! ha!
MARL. (_Aside. _) Egad! I don't quite like this chit. She looks knowing,
methinks. You laugh, child!
MISS HARD. I can't but laugh to think what time they all have for
minding their work or their family.
MARL. (_Aside. _) All's well, she don't laugh at me. (_To her. _ ) Do
_you_ ever work, child?
MISS HARD. Ay, sure. There's not a screen or a quilt in the whole house
but what can bear witness to that.
MARL. Odso! Then you must show me your embroidery.
I embroider and draw patterns myself a little. If you want a judge of your work, you must
apply to me.
_Seizing her hand. _
MISS HARD. Ay, but the colours don't look well by candle-light. You
shall see all in the morning.
_Struggling. _
MARL. And why not now, my angel? Such beauty fires beyond the power of
resistance. —Pshaw! the father here! My old luck: I never nicked seven,
that I did not throw ames-ace three times following.
_Exit_ MARLOW.
_Enter_ HARDCASTLE, _who stands in surprise_.
HARD. So, madam! So I find _this_ is your _modest_ lover. This is your
humble admirer, that kept his eyes, fixed on the ground, and only
adored at humble distance. Kate, Kate, art thou not ashamed to deceive
your father so?
MISS HARD. Never trust me, dear papa, but he's still the modest man I
first took him for, you'll be convinced of it as well as I.
HARD. By the hand of my body, I believe his impudence is infectious!
Didn't I see him seize your hand? Didn't I see him haul you about like
a milk-maid? and now you talk of his respect and his modesty, forsooth!
MISS HARD. But if I shortly convince you of his modesty; that he has
only the faults that will pass off with time, and the virtues that will
improve with age; I hope you'll forgive him.
HARD. The girl would actually make one run mad; I tell you, I will not
be convinced. I am convinced. He has scarcely been three hours in the
house, and he has already encroached on all my prerogatives. You may
like his impudence, and call it modesty; but my son-in-law, madam, must
have very different qualifications.
MISS HARD. Sir, I ask but this night to convince you.
HARD. You shall not have half the time; for I have thoughts of turning
him out this very hour.
MISS HARD. Give me that hour, then, and I hope to satisfy you.
HARD. Well, an hour let it be then. But I'll have no trifling with your
father. All fair and open, do you mind me?
MISS HARD. I hope, sir, you have ever found that I considered your
commands as my pride; for your kindness is such, that my duty as yet
has been inclination.
_Exeunt. _
ACT IV.
_Enter_ HASTINGS _and_ MISS NEVILLE.
HAST. You surprise me! Sir Charles Marlow expected here this night?
Where have you had your information?
MISS NEV. 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.
HAST. 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 NEV. The jewels, I hope, are safe.
HAST. Yes, yes. I have sent them to Marlow, who keeps the keys of our
baggage. In the meantime, 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 NEV. Well! success attend you. In the meantime, I'll go amuse my
aunt with the old pretence of a violent passion for my cousin.
_Exit. _
_Enter_ MARLOW _followed by a_ SERVANT.
MARL. 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?
SERV. Yes, your honour.
MARL. She said she'd keep it safe, did she?
SERV. 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. _
MARL. 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.
_Enter_ HASTINGS.
HAST. 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!
MARL. 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.
HAST. 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.
