All language subtitles for She Stoops To Conquer The Play Part Two

Oh! I vow,

Mr. Hardcastle, you're very particular.

Is there a creature in the
whole country but ourselves,

that does not take a
trip to town now and then,

to rub off the rust a little?
There's the two Miss Hoggs,

and our neighbor Mrs. Grigsby, go to
take a month's polishing every winter.

Ay, and bring back vanity and
affectation to last them the whole year.

I wonder why London cannot
keep its own fools at home!

In my time, the follies of the
town crept slowly among us,

but now they travel faster
than a stage-coach.

Its fopperies come down
not only as inside passengers,

but in the very basket.

Ay, your times were
fine times indeed,

you have been telling us of
them for many a long year.

Here we live in this old rambling mansion,

that looks for all the world like an
inn, but that we never see company.

Our best visitors are old Mrs. Oddfish,

the curate's wife, ugh…
and little Cripplegate,

the lame dancing-master

and all our entertainment
your old stories

of Prince Eugene and
the Duke of Marlborough.

- I hate such old-fashioned trumpery.
- And I love it.

I love everything that's old:
old friends, old times, old manners,

old books, old wine

and I believe, Dorothy, you'll own I
have been pretty fond of an old wife.

Lord, Mr. Hardcastle,
you're for ever at your Dorothys

and your old wives. You may
be a Darby, but I'll be no Joan,

I promise you. I'm not so old as you'd
make me, by more than one good year.

Add 20 to 20, and make
money of that.

Let me see;
20 added to 20

makes just 50 and 7.

Oh! It's false,
Mr. Hardcastle, I was but 20

when Tony was born. The son of Mr. Lumpkin,

my first husband,

and he's not come to
years of discretion yet.

Nor ever will, I dare answer for him.

- Ay, you have taught him finely.
- No matter.

Tony Lumpkin has a good
fortune. My son is not to live

by his learning. I don't think
a boy wants much learning

to spend 1500 a year.

Learning, quotha!

A mere composition of tricks and mischief.

Humor, my dear, nothing but humor.

Come, Mr. Hardcastle, you
must allow the boy a little humor.

I'd sooner allow
him a horse-pond.

If burning the footmen's shoes,

frightening the maids,
and worrying the kittens

be humor, 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.

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?

Latin for him!
A cat and fiddle.

No, the alehouse and the stable
are the only schools he'll ever go to.

Well, we must not snub the poor
boy now, for I believe we sha'n't

have him long among us. Anybody that
looks in his face may see he's consumptive.

Ay, if growing too fat
be one of the symptoms.

- He coughs sometimes.
- Yes, when his liquor goes the wrong way.

- I'm actually afraid of his lungs.
- And truly so am I,

for he sometimes whoops like a
speaking trumpet. Oh, there he goes.

Oh, a very consumptive figure, truly.

Tony, where are you going,
my charmer? Won't you…won't

you give papa and I a
little of your company, love?

I'm in haste, mother.
I cannot stay.

You sha'n't venture out this
raw evening, my dear.

You look most shockingly.

I can't stay, I tell you.

The Three Pigeons expects me down every
moment. There's some fun going forward.

Ay, the alehouse, the
old place, I thought so.

- A low, paltry set of fellows.
- 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.

Oh, pray, my dear, disappoint
them for one night at least.

As for disappointing them,
I should not so much mind,

but I can't abide
to disappoint myself.

- Oh, Tony, you sha'n't go.
- I will, I tell you.

I say you sha'n't.
Tony, no.

We'll see which is strongest, you or I.

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?

Ah… 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's come
to be as fond of gauze and French frippery

as the best of them. 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.

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.

Well, remember, I insist on the terms
of our agreement. Oh, and, by the by,

I believe I shall have occasion to
try your obedience this very evening.

I protest, sir, I don't
comprehend your meaning.

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 he intends to follow
himself shortly after.

I wish I had known
something of this before.

Bless me, how shall I behave?

It's a thousand to one,
I sha'n'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.

Depend upon it, child, I'll
never control your choice.

But young 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.

- Is he?
- Very generous.

I believe I shall like him.

- Young and brave.
- I'm sure I shall like him.

And very handsome.

My dear papa, say no more,
he's mine, I'll have him.

And, to crown all, Kate,
he's one of the most bashful

and reserved young fellows
in all the world.

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.

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.

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.

Ay, Kate, but there
is still an obstacle.

It's more than an even wager
he may not have you.

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.

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.

Oh, get it will you, William?

Lud, this news of papa's
puts me all in a flutter

Young, handsome,

all 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 cured of his timidity,
by being taught to be proud of his wife?

Yes. But I vow I'm disposing of the husband

before I have secured the lover.

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?
- 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?

No, nothing of all this.
I have been threatened.

I can scarce get it out.
I have been threatened

with a lover.

- And his name?
- Is Marlow.

- Indeed!
- The son of Sir Charles Marlow.

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.

- Never.
- Oh, 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.
- 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?

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.

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.

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.

My good brother holds out stoutly.

I could almost love him for hating you so.
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.

"Would it were bed-time,
and all were well."

The 'squire has got spunk in him.

What a pity it is the
'squire is not come into his

own yet. It would be
good for all the publicans

within 10 miles round of him.

Ecod, and so it would, Master Slang.

I'd then show what it was
to keep choice of company.

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 tone as saying in the place,

that he kept the best horses,
dogs, and girls, in the whole county.

Ecod, and when I'm of age,
I'll be no bastard, I promise you.

I have been thinking of Bet Bouncer

and the miller's grey mare
to begin with.

But come, my boys,

drink about and be merry,

for you pay no reckoning.

Stingo,

What's the matter?

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.

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?

I believe they may.

They look woundily like Frenchmen.

Then desire them to step this way,
and I'll set them right in a twinkling.

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 1500 a year,

and let him frighten
me out of that if he can.

What a tedious uncomfortable
day have we had of it!

We were told it was but 40 miles across the
country, and we have come above threescore.

And all, Marlow, from that
unaccountable reserve of yours,

that would not let us inquire
more frequently on the way.

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.

At present, however, we are
not likely to receive any answer.

No offence, gentlemen.

But I'm told you have been inquiring
for one Mr. Hardcastle in these parts.

Do you know what part
of the country you are in?

No, sir, but should
thank you for information.

Nor the way you came?

No, sir, but if you
can inform us…

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.

We wanted no ghost to tell us that.

Pray, gentlemen,

may I be so bold so as to ask
the place from whence you came?

That's not necessary towards
directing us where we are to go.

No offence, but question for
question is all fair, you know.

Pray, gentlemen, is not
this, the same Hardcastle

a cross-grained, old-fashioned,
whimsical fellow, with an ugly face,

a daughter, and a pretty son?

We have not seen the gentleman,
but he has the family you speak of.

The daughter, a tall, trapesing,
trolloping, talkative maypole,

the son, a pretty, well-bred, agreeable
youth, that everybody is so fond of.

Our information differs in this.

The daughter is said to be well-bred
and beautiful, the son an awkward

booby was it?
Booby,

reared up and spoiled
at his mother's apron-string.

Then, gentlemen, all I have to tell you

is that you won't reach Mr. Hardcastle's
house this night, I believe.

That is unfortunate!

It's a damned long, dark,
boggy, dirty, dangerous way.

Stingo, tell the gentlemen the way
to Mr. Hardcastle's!

Mr. Hardcastle's, of Quagmire
Marsh, you understand me.

Oh, Master Hardcastle's!

Lock-a-daisy, my masters,
you're come a deadly deal wrong!

See, when you came
to the bottom of the hill,

you should have crossed
down Squash Lane.

Cross down Squash Lane!
Then you were to keep

straight forward, till
you came to four roads.

Come to where four roads meet?

Ay, but you must be sure
to take only one of them.

- O, sir, you're facetious.
- Then keeping to the right,

you are to go sideways till you
come upon Crackskull Common.

Here, you must look sharp
for the track of the wheel,

and go forwards 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.

Zounds, man! We could as
soon find out the longitude!

- What's to be done, Marlow?
- This house promises but a poor reception,

though perhaps the landlord
can accommodate us.

Alack, master, we have but
one spare bed in the whole house.

And to my knowledge, that's taken up
by three lodgers already.

I have hit it.

Don't you think, Stingo, our landlady could
accommodate the gentlemen by the fire-side,

with three chairs and a bolster?

I hate sleeping by the fire-side.

And I detest your three
chairs and a bolster.

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 county?

O, ho! So we have escaped an
adventure for this night, however.

Sure, you're not sending them
to your father's as an inn, be you?

Mum, you fool you.
Let them find that out.

You have only to go on straight forward,

till you see a large old
house by the road side.

Roadside?

You'll see a pair of
large horns over the door.

- Horns?
- That's the sign. Drive up the yard,

- and call stoutly about you.
- Stoutly about you.

Sir, we are much obliged to you.

- The servants can't miss the way?
- No, no, but I tell you, though,

the landlord is rich,
and going to leave off business,

so he wants to be
thought a gentleman,

saving your presence, he'll be for
giving you his company and, ecod,

if you mind him, he'll persuade
you that his mother was an alderman,

and his aunt a justice of peace.

A troublesome old blade, to be
sure but a keeps as good wines

and beds as any in the whole country.

Well, if he supplies us with these,
we shall want no farther connection.

Cheers. Cheers.

Oh, it's very good actually.
It's stunning. Thank you.

We are to turn to
the right, did you say?

No, no, straight forward.
I'll just step myself,

and show you
a piece of the way. Mum!

Ah, bless your heart,

for a sweet, pleasant, damned
mischievous son of a whore.

Well, I hope you are all
perfect in the table exercise

I have been teaching
you these three days.

You all know your posts
and your places, and can

show that you have been
used to good company,

without ever stirring from home.

When company comes you
must not pop out and stare, and

then run in again, like
frightened rabbits in a warren.

You, Diggory,

whom I have taken from
the barn, are to make

a show at the side-table
and you, Roger,

whom I have advanced from the plough,
are to place yourself behind my chair.

But you're not to stand so,
with your hands in your pockets.

Take your hands from your pockets, Roger,

and from your head, you blockhead
you. See how Diggory carries his hands.

They're a little too stiff, indeed,
but that's no great matter.

Ay, mind how I hold them.
I learned to hold my hands

this way when I was
upon drill for the militia.

And so being upon drill…
You must not be so talkative, Diggory.

You must be all attention
to the guests.

You must hear us talk,
and not think of talking;

you must see us drink, and not
think of drinking, you must see us eat,

and not think of eating.

By the laws, your worship,
that's perfectly un-possible.

Whenever Diggory sees
eating going forward,

Ecod, he's always wishing
for a mouthful himself.

Blockhead! Is not a belly-full in the kitchen
as good as a belly-full in the parlor?

Stay your stomach with that
reflection.

Ecod, I thank your worship,

I'll make a shift to stay my stomach
with a slice of cold beef in the pantry.

Diggory, you are too talkative.

Now, if I happen to say a good
thing, or tell a good story at the table,

you must not all burst out a-laughing,
as if you made part of the company.

Then ecod your worship, you must not tell
the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room.

I can't help laughing at that.

For the soul of me. We have
laughed at that these 15 years.

The story is a good one.

Well, honest Diggory, you
may laugh at that, but still,

remember to be attentive.

Now, suppose one of the company
should call for a glass of wine,

how will you behave? A
glass of wine, sir, if you please.

Eh, why don't you move?

Ecod, your worship, I
never have courage

till I see the eatables and
drinkables brought upon the table,

and then I'm as bauld as a lion.

What, will nobody move?

I'm not to leave this place.

- I'm sure it's no place of mine.
- Nor mine, for sartain.

Wauns, and I'm
sure it canna be mine.

Oh, you numskulls! And
so while, like a government,

you are quarrelling for
places, the guests must be

starved. O you dunces! I
find I must begin all over again.

But don't I hear a coach drive into the
yard? To your posts, you blockheads.

I'll go in the mean time
and give my old friend's son

a hearty reception at the gate.

By the elevens, my place
is gone quite out of my head.

I know that my
place is to be everywhere.

Where the devil is mine?

My place is to
be nowhere at all,

and so I go about my
business.

Welcome, gentlemen,
very welcome! This way. .

Oh!

After the disappointments of the
day, welcome once more, Charles,

to the comforts of a clean room

and a good fire.

Upon my word, a very
well-looking house,

- antique but creditable.
- The usual fate of a large mansion.

Having first ruined the
master with good housekeeping,

it at last comes to levy
contributions as an inn.

As you say, we passengers are to
be taxed to pay for all these fineries.

I have often seen a good
sideboard, or a marble chimney-piece,

though not actually
put in the bill,

inflame a reckoning confoundedly.

Travelers, George,
must pay in all places.

The only difference is, that in
good inns you pay dearly for luxuries,

in bad inns you are fleeced and starved.

You have lived very much among them.

In truth, I have often
been surprised, that you

who have seen so
much of the world,

with your natural good sense,
and your many opportunities,

you could never yet acquire
a requisite share of assurance.

The Englishman's malady.

But tell me, George, where could I
have learned that assurance you talk of?

My life has been chiefly
spent in a college or an inn,

in seclusion from that
lovely part of the creation

that chiefly teach men confidence.

I don't know that I was ever familiarly
acquainted with a single modest woman,

except my mother,

but among females of
another class, you know.

Ay, among them you are
impudent enough of all conscience.

They are of us, you know.

But in the company
of women of reputation

I never saw such an idiot, such a
trembler, you look for all the world

as if you wanted an opportunity
of stealing out of the room.

Why, man, that's because I
do want to steal out of the room.

Faith, I have often formed
a resolution to break the ice,

and rattle away at any rate. But
I don't know how,

a single glance from a pair of fine
eyes has totally overset my resolution.

An impudent fellow
may counterfeit modesty;

but I'll be hanged if a modest man
can ever counterfeit impudence.

If you could but say half the fine things
to them that I have heard you lavish upon

the bar-maid of an inn,
or even a college bed-maker.

Why, George, I can't say
fine things to them, they freeze,

they petrify me.

Some may talk of a comet,

or a burning mountain, or some such
bagatelle, but, to me,

a modest woman dressed out in
all her finery, is the most

tremendous object
of the whole creation.

At this rate, man, how can you
ever expect to marry?

Never, unless, as among kings and princes,
my bride were to be courted by proxy.

If, indeed, like an Eastern bridegroom,

one were to be introduced
to a wife he never saw before,

it might be endured.

But to go through all the
terrors of a formal courtship,

together with the episode of
aunts, grandmothers, and cousins,

and at last to blurt out the
broad staring question of,

- Madam, will you marry me?
- No, no, no…

No, no, that's a strain much
above me, I assure you.

I pity you. But,

how do you intend behaving toward
the young lady you are come to visit

at the request of your father?

As I behave to
all other ladies.

Bow very low, answer yes
or no to all her demands.

But for the rest,

I don't think I shall venture to look
in her face till I see my father again.

I'm surprised that one who is so
warm a friend can be so cool a lover.

To be explicit, my dear Hastings,
my chief inducement down

was to be instrumental in forwarding
your happiness, not my own.

Miss Neville loves you,

the family don't know you, as my
friend you are sure of a reception,

- and let honor do the rest.
- My dear Marlow!

But I'll suppress the emotion.

Were I a wretch, meanly
seeking to carry off a fortune,

you should be the last man in the
world I would apply to for assistance.

But Miss Neville's person is all I ask,

and that is mine, both from
her deceased father's consent,

and her own inclination.

Happy man!

You have talents and art
to captivate any woman.

I'm doomed to adore the sex,

and yet to converse with
the only part of it I despise.

This stammer in my address, and this
awkward prepossessing visage of mine,

can never permit me to soar above
the reach of a milliner's 'prentice,

or one of the
duchesses of Drury-lane.

Oh, sure the inkeeper here to interrupt us.

Gentlemen, once more you are
heartily welcome. Which is Mr. Marlow?

Sir, you are heartily welcome.

It's not my way, you see, to receive
my friends with my back to the fire.

I like give them a hearty
reception in the old style at my gate.

I like to see their horses
and trunks taken care of.

He has got our names
from the servants already.

We approve your
caution and hospitality, sir.

I have been thinking, George, of changing
our traveling dresses in the morning.

I am grown confoundedly
ashamed of mine.

I beg, Mr. Marlow, you'll use
no ceremony in this house.

I fancy, Charles, you're right.
The first blow is half the battle.

I intend opening the campaign
with the white and gold.

Mr. Marlow, Mr. Hastings, gentlemen, I
pray be under no constraint in this house.

This is Liberty-hall, gentlemen.

You may do just as you
please here.

Yet, George, if we open the
campaign too fiercely at first,

we may want ammunition
before it is over.

I think to reserve the
embroidery is to secure a retreat.

Uh… You're talking of
a retreat, Mr. Marlow,

puts me in mind of the Duke of Marlborough,
when we went to besiege Denain.

- He first summoned the garrison…
- Don't you think the ventre d'or waistcoat

will do with the plain brown?

He first summoned the garrison,

- which might consist of about 5,000 men…
- I think not, brown and yellow

- mix but very poorly.
- I say, gentlemen,

as I was telling you, he first
summoned the garrison,

- which might consist of about 5,000 men.
- The girls like finery.

Which might consist of about 5,000 men,
well appointed with stores, ammunition,

and other implements of war. Now, says
the Duke of Marlborough to George Brooks,

that stood next to him. You must
have heard of George Brooks.

"I'll pawn my dukedom," says he,

but I take that garrison without
spilling a drop of blood.

- So…
- What, my good friend,

if you gave us a glass of
punch in the mean time,

it would help us to carry
on the siege with vigor.

Punch, sir! This is the most unaccountable
kind of modesty I ever met with.

Yes, sir, punch. A glass of warm punch,
after our journey, will be comfortable.

- This is Liberty-hall, you know.
- Here's a cup, sir.

So this fellow, in his Liberty-hall, will
only let us have just what he pleases.

I hope you'll find it to your mind. I
have prepared it with my own hands,

and I believe you'll own
the ingredients are tolerable.

Will you be so good
as to pledge me, sir?

Here, Mr. Marlow, here is
to our better acquaintance.

A very impudent fellow this! But he's
a character, and I'll humor him a little.

Sir, my service to you.

I see this fellow wants
to give us his company,

and forgets that he's an innkeeper,
before he has learned to be a gentleman.

From the excellence of
your cup, my old friend,

I suppose you have a good deal of
business in this part of the country.

Warm work, now and
then, at elections, I suppose.

No, sir, I have long given that work over.

Since our betters have hit upon
the expedient of electing each other,

there is no business
"For us that sell ale."

- No turn for politics, then I find.
- Not in the least.

There was a time, indeed,

I fretted myself about the mistakes
of government, like other people, but

finding myself every
day grow more angry,

and the government grow no better,
I left it to mend itself.

But what with eating above
stairs, and drinking below,

with receiving your friends
without and amusing them within,

you lead a good pleasant

bustling life of it.

I do stir about a good
deal, that's for certain.

Half the differences of the parish
are adjusted in this very room.

And you have an argument
in your cup, old gentleman,

- better than in Westminster-hall.
- Ay, young gentleman,

that, and a little philosophy.

Well, this is the first time I ever
heard of an innkeeper's philosophy.

So like an experienced general,
you attack them on every quarter.

If you find their reason manageable,
you attack it with your philosophy.

And if you find they have no
reason, you attack them with this.

So here's your health,

- my philosopher.
- Good, very good, thank you.

Your generalship puts me
in mind of Prince Eugene,

when he fought the Turks
in the battle of Belgrade.

- You shall hear.
- Instead of the battle of Belgrade,

I believe it's almost
time to talk about supper.

What has your philosophy
got in the house for supper?

For supper, sir! Was ever such a
request to a man in his own house?

Yes, sir, supper, sir; I
begin to feel an appetite.

I shall make devilish work
to-night in the larder, I promise you.

Such a brazen dog sure
never my eyes beheld.

Why, really, sir, as for
supper I can't well tell.

My Dorothy and the cook-maid
settle these things between them.

I leave these kind of
things entirely to them.

- You do, do you?
- Entirely.

By the bye, I believe they
are in actual consultation upon

what's for supper this
moment in the kitchen.

Then I beg they'll admit me
as one of their privy council.

It's a way I have got. When I travel, I
always choose to regulate my own supper.

Let the cook be called.

- No offence I hope, sir.
- Oh, no, sir,

none in the least. And yet I don't
know how, our Bridget, the cook-maid,

is not very communicative
upon these occasions.

Should we send for her, she
might scold us all out of the house.

Well, let's see your list of the
larder then. I ask it as a favor.

I always match my
appetite to my bill of fare.

Sir, he's very right,
and it's my way too.

Sir, you have a right to
command here.

Here, Roger,

bring us the bill of fare for to-night's
supper. I believe it's drawn out.

Your manner, Mr. Hastings, puts me
in mind of my uncle, Colonel Wallop.

It was a saying of his, that no man was
sure of his supper until he had eaten it.

All upon the high rope!
His uncle a colonel!

We shall soon hear of his
mother being a justice of the peace.

But let's hear the bill
of fare. What's here?

For the first course, for the
second course, for the dessert.

The devil, sir, do you think we have
brought down a whole Joiners' Company,

or the corporation of Bedford,
to eat up such a supper?

No, no. Two or three little things,
clean and comfortable, will do.

Oh, no… no. Let's hear it.

Uh… For the first course, at the
top, a pig's face and prune sauce.

Oh, damn your pig's face, I say.

And yet, gentlemen,
to men that are hungry,

a pig's face with prune
sauce is good eating.

At the bottom, a calf's
tongue and brains.

Let your brains be knocked out,
my good sir, I don't like them.

Or you may clap them on a
plate by themselves. I do.

Their impudence confounds me.

Gentlemen, you are my guests,
make what alterations you wish.

Is there anything else you wish
to retrench or alter, gentlemen?

A pork pie, a boiled rabbit
and sausages, a Florentine,

a shaking pudding,

and a dish of tiff-taff-taffety cream.

Confound your made dishes.

I shall be as much
at a loss in this house

as at a green and yellow dinner
at the French ambassador's table.

- No, no, I'm for plain eating.
- Oh, well, I'm sorry, gentlemen,

that I have nothing that you
like, but if there be anything you

have a particular fancy to…

Why, really, sir, your
bill of fare is so exquisite,

that any one part of it is
quite as good as another.

Send us what you please.

So much for supper. And now to see that our
beds are aired, and properly taken care of.

I must entreat you'll leave that
to me. You shall not stir a step.

Leave that to you!

I protest, sir, you must excuse me,
I always look to these things myself.

I must insist you, rest
yourself easy on that head.

You see I'm
resolved on it.

A very troublesome fellow
this, as I ever met with.

Well, sir, I'm resolved at least to
attend you. This may be modern modesty,

but I never saw anything look
so like old-fashioned impudence.

I see this fellow's civilities
begin to grow troublesome.

But who can be angry at those
assiduities which are meant to please him?

Ha! What do I see?

- Miss Neville, by all that's happy!
- My dear Hastings!

To what unexpected good fortune,

to what accident, am I to
ascribe this happy meeting?

Rather let me ask the
same question, I could never

have hoped to meet my
dearest Constance at an inn.

An inn!

Sure you mistake, my
aunt, my guardian, lives here.

What could induce you
to think this house an inn?

Uh… My friend, Mr. Marlow,
with whom I came down, and I,

have been sent
here as to an inn.

I assure you, a young fellow, whom
we accidentally met at a house hard by,

directed us hither.

Well, certainly it must be one of
my hopeful cousin's tricks,

of whom you have
heard me talk so often.

He whom your aunt intends for you?

He of whom I have
such just apprehensions?

You have nothing to fear from him,

I assure you. You'd adore him, if
you knew how heartily he despises me.

My aunt knows it too, and has undertaken

to court me for him, and actually
begins to think she has made a conquest.

Thou dear dissembler!

You must know, my Constance,

I have just seized this happy
opportunity of my friend's visit here

to get admittance into
the family.

The horses that carried us down
are now fatigued with their journey,

but they'll soon be refreshed and then,

if my dearest girl
will trust in her faithful

Hastings, we shall soon
be landed in France,

where even among slaves the
laws of marriage are respected.

I have often told you, that though
ready to obey you, I yet should leave

my little fortune behind
with reluctance.

The greatest part of it was
left me by my uncle,

the India director, and
chiefly consists in jewels.

I have been for some time
persuading my aunt to let me wear them.

I fancy I'm very near succeeding. The
instant they are put into my possession,

you shall find me ready to
make them and myself yours.

Perish the baubles!
Your person is all I desire.

In the mean time,

my friend Marlow must
not be let into his mistake.

I know the strange relationship
of his reserve is such,

that if abruptly informed of it,
he would instantly quit the house

before our plan was ripe for execution.

What if we still continue to deceive him?

Miss Hardcastle is just
returned from walking.

But how shall we keep him in the deception?

Uh… The assiduities of these good people

tease me beyond bearing. My
host seems to think it ill manners

to leave me alone, and
so he claps not only himself,

but his old-fashioned
wife, on my back.

They talk of coming to
sup with us too, I know.

And then, I suppose, we are to run the
gantlet through all the rest of the family.

My dear Charles! Let me congratulate
you! The most fortunate accident!

Who do you think is just alighted?

Cannot guess.

Our mistresses, my boy, Miss
Hardcastle and Miss Neville.

Give me leave to introduce Miss
Constance Neville to your acquaintance.

Happening to dine
in the neighborhood,

they called on their return
to take fresh horses here.

Miss Hardcastle has
stepped into the next room,

and will be back in an
instant. Wasn't it lucky? Eh!

I have just been mortified
enough of all conscience,

and here comes something to
complete my embarrassment.

Wasn't it the most
fortunate thing in the world?

Oh! Yes. Very fortunate.

A most joyful encounter.

But our dresses, George,
you know are in disorder.

What if we should postpone
the happiness till to-morrow?

To-morrow at her own house. Yes.

It will be every bit as convenient
and rather more respectful.

- To-morrow let it be.
- By no means, sir.

Your ceremony will displease her.

The disorder of your dress will
show the ardor of your impatience.

Besides, she knows you are in the
house, and will permit you to see her.

O! The devil!
How shall I support it?

Hem! Hem! Hastings,

you must not go.

You… you are to
assist me, you know.

I shall be confoundedly ridiculous.

Yet, hang it! I'll take courage.

Pshaw, man! It's but the first plunge, and
all's over. She's but a woman, you know.

And, of all women, she that
I dread most to encounter.

Miss Hardcastle, Mr. Marlow.

I'm proud of bringing two
persons of such merit together,

that only want to know,
to esteem each other.

Now for meeting my modest gentleman

with a demure face, and
quite in his own manner.

I'm glad of your safe arrival, sir.
I'm told you had some accidents by the way.

- Only a few, madam. Yes, we had some.
- Oh.

Yes, madam, a good many
accidents, but should be sorry, madam,

or rather glad of any accidents,

that are so agreeably concluded. Hem!

You never spoke better in
your whole life. Keep it up,

and I'll insure you the victory.

I'm afraid you flatter, sir.

You that have seen so
much of the finest company,

can find little entertainment in
an obscure corner of the country.

I have lived, indeed, in the world,
madam; but I have kept very little company.

I have been but an observer upon life,
madam, while others were enjoying it.

But that, I am told, is
the way to enjoy it at last.

Cicero never spoke better. Once more, and
you are confirmed in assurance for ever.

Hem! Stand by me, then, and when I'm down,
throw in a word or two, to set me up again.

An observer, like you, upon life
were, I fear, disagreeably employed,

since you must have had much
more to censure than to approve.

Pardon me, madam.
I was always willing to be amused.

The folly of most people is rather
an object of mirth than uneasiness.

What? Bravo, bravo. Never spoke better
in your whole life. Well, Miss Hardcastle,

I see that you and Mr. Marlow
are going to be very good company.

I believe our being here will
but embarrass the interview.

Not in the least, Mr. Hastings.
We like your company of all things.

Zounds! George, sure you
won't go? How can you leave us?

Our presence will but spoil conversation,
so we'll retire to the next room.

You don't consider, man, that we are
to manage a little tete-a-tete of our own.

But you have not been wholly
an observer, I presume, sir.

The ladies, I should hope, have
employed some part of your addresses.

Pardon me, madam,
I… I… I,

as yet have studied
only to deserve them.

And that, some say, is the
very worst way to obtain them.

Perhaps so, madam.

But I love to converse only with the
more grave and sensible part of the sex.

But I'm afraid I grow tiresome.

Not at all, sir, there is nothing I like
so much as grave conversation myself.

I could hear it for ever.

Indeed, I have often been
surprised how a man of

sentiment could ever admire
those light airy pleasures,

where nothing reaches the heart.

It's… It's a disease of the mind, madam.

In the variety of tastes
there must be some who,

wanting a relish
for umm…uh… umm…

I understand you, sir.

There must be some, who,
wanting a relish for refined pleasures,

pretend to despise what
they are incapable of tasting.

My meaning, madam, but
infinitely better expressed.

And I can't help observing, uh…

Who could ever suppose this fellow
impudent upon some occasions?

- You were going to observe, sir.
- I was observing, madam.

I protest, madam, I forget what I was
going to observe.

You were observing, sir,
that in this age of hypocrisy,

something about hypocrisy, sir.

Yes, madam. In this age of
hypocrisy there are few who

upon strict inquiry
do not, uh… uh… uh…

- I understand you perfectly, sir.
- Egad! and that's more than I do myself.

You mean that in this hypocritical age,
there are few that do not condemn in public

what they practice in
private, and think they

pay every debt to
virtue when they praise it.

It's true, madam. Those who
have most virtue in their mouths,

have least of it
in their bosoms.

- But I'm sure I tire you, madam.
- Not in the least, sir.

There is something so agreeable
and spirited in your manner,

such life and force,
pray, sir, go on.

Yes, madam. I was saying

that there are some occasions, when a total
want of courage, madam, destroys all the

- and puts us upon a…
- I agree with you entirely,

a want of courage upon some occasions
assumes the appearance of ignorance,

and betrays us when we most
want to excel. I beg you'll proceed.

Yes, madam. Morally speaking, madam.

But I see Miss Neville
expecting us in the next room.

I would not intrude
for the world.

I protest, sir, I never was more agreeably
entertained in all my life.

- Pray go on.
- Yes, madam,

I was… But she beckons us to join her.
Shall I do myself the honor to attend you?

Well, then, I'll follow.

This pretty smooth
dialogue has done for me.

Was there ever such a
sober, sentimental interview?

I'm certain he scarce looked
in my face the whole time.

And yet the fellow, but for
his unaccountable bashfulness,

is pretty well too. He has good sense,

but then so buried in his fears, that
it fatigues one more than ignorance.

If I could teach him a little confidence,

that would be doing somebody
that I know of a piece of service.

But who is that somebody?

That, faith, is a question
I can scarce answer.

What do you follow
me for, cousin Con?

I wonder you're not ashamed to
be so very engaging.

I hope, cousin, one may speak to
one's own relations, and not be to blame.

Ay, but I know what sort of a
relation you want to make me, though,

but it won't do. I tell you,
cousin Con, it won't do.

So I beg you. I beg
you keep your distance.

I want no nearer relationship.

Well! I vow, Mr. Hastings,
you are very entertaining.

There's nothing in the world
I love to talk of so much as London,

and fashions, though I
was never there myself.

You were never
there! You amaze me!

From your air and manner, I
concluded you had been bred all your life

either at Ranelagh,
St. James's, or Tower Wharf.

O! Sir, you're only
pleased to say so.

We… we country persons
can have no manner at all.

I'm in love with the town, and
that serves to raise me above

some of our neighboring rustics,
but who can have a manner,

that has never seen the Pantheon,
the Grotto Gardens, the Borough,

and such places where
the nobility chiefly resort?

All I can do is to enjoy
London at second-hand.

I take care to know every tete-a-tete
from the Scandalous Magazine,

and I have all the fashions,

as they come out, in a letter from
the two Miss Rickets of Crooked Lane.

Pray how do you like
this head, Mr. Hastings?

It's extremely elegant and degagee,

upon my word, madam. Your
friseur is a Frenchman, I suppose?

I protest, I dressed it myself from a print

in the Ladies' Memorandum-book
for the last year.

Indeed!

Such a head in a side-box at the play-house

would draw as many gazers as
my Lady Mayoress at a City Ball.

I vow, since inoculation began,
there is no such thing to be seen

as a plain woman, so one
must dress a little particular,

or one may escape in the crowd.

But that can never
be your case, madam.

It can never be your case in any dress.

Yet, what signifies my dressing
when I have such a piece of antiquity

by my side as Mr. Hardcastle.

All I can say will never argue
down a single button from his clothes.

I have often wanted him to throw off his
great flaxen wig, and where he was bald,

to plaster it over, with
powder.

You are quite right, madam, for, as
among the ladies there are none ugly,

so among the men there are none old.

But what do you think his answer was?

Why, with his usual Gothic vivacity,

he said I only wanted him to throw
off his wig, to convert it into a tete

for my own wearing.

Intolerable! At your age you may wear
what you please, and it must become you.

Pray, Mr. Hastings,

what do you take to be the
most fashionable age about town?

Uh… Well, some time ago,

40 was considered
all the mode,

but I'm told the ladies
intend to bring up 50

for the ensuing winter.

Seriously. Then I shall be
too young for the fashion.

No lady begins now to put on
jewels till she's past 40.

And yet Mrs. Niece thinks
herself as much a woman,

and is as fond of jewels,
as the oldest of us all.

It's your niece, is she?

And that young gentleman there would
be a, a brother of yours, I should presume?

My son, sir.

Yes. They are contracted to each other.

Observe their little sports. They
fall in and out 10 times a day,

as if they were man and wife already.

Pray, Tony, child,

what soft things are you saying to
your cousin Constance this evening?

I have been saying no soft things, but that
it's very hard to be followed about so.

Ecod! I've not a place in the house
now that's left to myself, but the stable.

Never mind him, Con, my dear.
He's in another story behind your back.

There's something generous
in my cousin's manner.

He falls out before faces
to be forgiven in private.

That's a damned confounded crack.

Oh, he's a sly one.

Don't you think they are like each
other about the mouth, Mr. Hastings?

They're of a size too.

Back to back, my pretties,
that Mr. Hastings may see you.

Come, Tony.

You had as good not
make me, I tell you.

The monster! For shame,
Tony. You a man, and behave so!

If I'm a man, let me have
my fortune. But Ecod!

I tell you, I'll not be
made a fool of no longer.

Is this, ungrateful boy,

all that I'm to get for the pains
I have taken in your education?

I… I that have rocked you in your cradle,

and… and fed that pretty
mouth with a spoon!

Did not I work that waistcoat
to make you genteel?

Did not I prescribe for you every day,
and weep while the medicine was operating?

Ecod! You had reason to weep, for you
have been dosing me ever since I was born.

I have gone through every medicine
in the Complete Huswife 10 times over.

But, Ecod! I tell you, I'll not
be made a fool of no longer.

Wasn't it all for your good, viper?
Wasn't it all for your good?

I wish you'd let me and
my good alone, then.

Snubbing this way when I'm in
spirits. If I'm to have any good,

let it come of itself and not to
keep dinging it, dinging it into one so.

That's false. I never see
you when you're in spirits.

No, Tony, you then go to
the alehouse or… or the kennel.

I'm never to be delighted with your
agreeable wild notes, unfeeling monster!

Ecod! Mamma,

your own notes are the wildest of the two.

Was ever the like?

Uh… But I see he wants to break my heart,

- I see he does.
- Dear madam,

permit me to lecture the
young gentleman a little.

I'm certain I can persuade him to his duty.

Well, uh…

Oh! Oh!

Uh…

I must retire. Come,
Constance, my love.

You see, Mr. Hastings, the
wretchedness of my situation,

was ever poor woman so
plagued with a dear sweet, pretty,

provoking, undutiful boy?

Don't mind her. Let her cry.

It's the comfort of her heart.
I have seen her and sister

cry over a book for an hour together; and
they said they liked the book the better

the more it made them cry.

You're no friend to the ladies, I find,

- my pretty young gentleman?
- That's as I find 'um.

Not to her of your mother's
choosing, I dare answer?

And yet she appears to me
a pretty well-tempered girl.

That's because you don't
know her as well as I. Ecod!

I know every inch about her
and there's not a more bitter

cantankerous toad in all Christendom.

Pretty encouragement this for a lover!

I have seen her since the height
of that. She has as many tricks

as a hare in a thicket, or a
colt the first day's breaking.

To me she appears
sensible and silent.

Ay, before company. But when
she's with her playmate,

she's as loud as a hog in a gate.

But there is a meek modesty
about her that charms me.

Yes, but curb her never so little, she
kicks up, and you're flung in a ditch.

You must allow her a little beauty.

- You must allow her some beauty.
- She's all a made-up thing, mun.

Ah! Could you but see
Bet Bouncer of these parts,

you might then talk of beauty.

She has two eyes as black
as sloes, and cheeks as broad

and red as a pulpit cushion.
She'd make two of she.

Well, what would
you say to a friend

that would take this bitter
bargain off your hands?

Anon.

Would you thank him that
would take Miss Neville,

and leave you to
happiness and your dear

Betsy?

Ay, but where is there such a
friend, for who would take her?

I am he.

If you'll assist me, I'll engage
to whip her off to France,

- and you shall never hear more of her.
- Assist you!

Uh… Uh…

Ecod I will, to the last drop of my blood.
I'll clap a pair of horses to your chaise

that shall trundle
you off in a twinkling,

and may be get you a
part of her fortune beside,

in jewels, that
you little dream of.

Oh, my dear 'squire,
this looks like a lad of spirit.

Well, come along, then, and you see more
of my spirit before you have done with me.

What could my old friend Sir Charles
mean by recommending his son

as the modestest young man in town?

To me he appears the most impudent piece
of brass that ever spoke with a tongue.

I'm desirous to know how his
impudence affects my daughter.

She will certainly be
shocked at it. Well, my Kate,

I see you have changed
your dress, as I bade you.

I find such a pleasure, sir,
in obeying your commands,

that I take care to observe them
without ever debating their propriety.

And yet, Kate, I sometimes
give you some cause,

particularly when I recommended my
modest gentleman to you as a lover to-day.

You taught me to expect
something extraordinary,

and I find the original
exceeds the description.

I was never so surprised in my life!

- He has quite confounded all my faculties!
- I never saw anything like it,

that timid look, that awkward
address, that bashful manner.

Whose look? Whose manner, child?

- Mr. Marlow's, his mauvaise honte.
- Oh!

Oh, his timidity, struck
me at the first sight.

Then your first sight
deceived you,

for I found him one of
the most brazen first sights

that ever astonished my senses.

Sure, sir, you rally!

I never saw any one so modest.

And can you be serious?

I never saw such a bouncing,
swaggering puppy since I was born.

Surprising! He treated me
with diffidence and respect,

censured the manners of the age, admired
the prudence of girls that never laughed,

tired me with apologies for being tiresome
and then left the room with a bow, and

"Madam, I would not
for the world detain you."

He spoke to me as if he
knew me all his life before,

asked 20 questions, and
never waited for an answer,

interrupted my best
remarks with some silly pun

and when I was in my best story of the
Duke of Marlborough and Prince Eugene,

he asked if I had not a good
hand at making punch.

Yes, Kate, he asked your
father if he was a maker of punch!

- One of us must certainly be mistaken.
- If he be what he has shown himself,

I'm determined he shall
never have my consent.

Oh, and if he be the sullen thing I
take him for, he shall never have mine.

In one thing then we
are agreed to reject him.

Yes, but upon conditions.

For if you should find him less
impudent, and I more presuming,

if you find him more respectful,
and I more importunate…

If we should find him so.
But that's impossible.

The first appearance has done my
business. I'm seldom deceived in that.

And yet there may be many good
qualities under that first appearance.

Ay, when a girl finds a
fellow's outside to her taste,

she then sets about guessing
the rest of his furniture.

With her, a smooth face
stands for good sense,

and a genteel figure
for every virtue.

I hope, sir, a conversation begun
with a compliment to my good sense,

won't end with a sneer at my understanding?

Pardon me, Kate.

But if young Mr. Brazen can find
the art of reconciling contradictions,

he may please us both, perhaps.

And as one of us must be mistaken, what
if we go on to make further discoveries?

Agreed. But depend on it,
I'm in the right.

And depend on't
I'm not much in the wrong.

Ecod! I have got them.

Here they are. My cousin Con's
jewels, necklaces, bobs and all.

My mother shan't cheat the poor
souls out of their fortune neither.

O! My genus, is that you? My dear friend,
how have you managed with your mother?

I hope you have amused her
with pretending love for your cousin,

and that you are willing
to be reconciled at last?

The horses will be
refreshed in a short time,

and we shall soon
be ready to set off.

And here's something to bear your charges
by the way,

your sweetheart's jewels.

Keep them and hang those, I say,
that would rob you of one of them.

How have you procured
them from your mother?

Ask me no questions,
and I'll tell you no fibs.

I procured them
by the rule of thumb.

If I had not a key to every
drawer in mother's bureau,

how could I go to the
alehouse as often as I do?

An honest man may rob
himself of his own at any time.

Thousands do it every day.

I'm watching you.

But to be
plain with you,

Miss Neville is endeavoring to procure
them from her aunt this very instant.

If she succeeds, that will be the most
delicate way at least of obtaining them.

Well, keep them, till
you know how it will be.

But I know how it
will be sure enough,

she'd as soon part with the
only sound tooth in her head.

No. No. I dread the
effects of her resentment,

when she finds she has lost them.

Never you mind her resentment,
leave me to manage that.

I don't value her resentment
the bounce of a cracker.

Zounds! Here they
are. Morrice! Prance!

Indeed, Constance, you amaze
me. Such a girl as you want jewels!

It will be time enough for
jewels, my dear, 20 years hence,

when your beauty
begins to want repairs.

But what will repair beauty at 40,
will certainly improve it at 20, madam.

Yours, my dear, can admit of none.

That natural blush is beyond
a thousand ornaments.

Besides, child, jewels
are quite out at present.

Don't you see half the
ladies of our acquaintance,

my Lady Kill-daylight, and Mrs. Crump,

and the rest of them,
carry their jewels to town,

and bring nothing but paste and
marcasites back.

But who knows, madam,

but somebody that shall
be nameless would like

me best with all my
little finery about me?

Consult your glass, my dear, and
then see if, with such a pair of eyes,

you want any better sparklers.
What do you think, Tony, my dear?

Does your cousin Con. want any
jewels in your eyes to set off her beauty?

That's as thereafter may be.

My dear aunt, if you knew
how it would oblige me.

A parcel of old-fashioned
rose and table-cut things.

They would make you look
like the court of King Solomon

at a puppet-show.

Besides, I believe, I
can't readily come at them.

They may be missing, for
aught I know to the contrary.

Then why don't you
tell her so at once,

as she's so longing for
them? Tell her they're lost.

It's the only way to quiet her. Say
they're lost, and call me to bear witness.

You know, my dear, I'm
only keeping them for you.

So if I say they're gone, you'll
bear me witness, will you?

Never fear me.

Ecod! I'll say I saw them
taken out with my own eyes.

I desire them but for
a day, madam.

Oh, just to be permitted
to show them as relics,

and then they may be locked up again.

To be plain with you, my dear Constance,

if I could find them you should
have them. They're missing,

I assure you. Lost, for aught I know,

but we must have patience
wherever they are.

I'll not believe it!

This is but a shallow
pretence to deny me.

I know they are too
valuable to be so slightly kept,

- and as you are to answer for the loss…
- Don't be alarmed, Constance my dear.

If they be lost, I must
restore an equivalent.

But my son knows they are
missing, and not to be found.

That I can bear witness to. They
are missing, and not to be found,

I'll take my oath on't.

You must learn
resignation, my dear,

for though we lose our fortune,
yet we should not lose our patience.

See me, how calm I am.

Ay, people are generally calm
at the misfortunes of others.

Now I wonder a girl of your good sense
should waste a thought upon such trumpery.

We shall soon find them
and in the mean time

you shall make use of the
garnets till your jewels be found.

Oh, I detest garnets.

The most becoming things in the
world to set off a clear complexion.

You have often seen how well they
look upon me. You shall have them.

Oh, I dislike them of
all things. You shan't stir.

Was ever anything so provoking,
as to mislay my own jewels,

and force me to
wear her trumpery?

Don't be a fool. If she
gives you the garnets,

take what you can get. The
jewels are your own already.

I have stolen them out of her bureau, and
she does not know it. Fly to your spark,

he'll tell you more of the matter. Leave
me to manage her.

My dear cousin!

Uh… Vanish. She's here,
and has missed them already.

Confusion! Thieves!

Robbers! We are cheated, plundered,

broke open, undone.

- What's the matter?
- Tony.

What's the matter, mamma?

I hope nothing has happened to
any of the good family!

We are robbed.

My bureau has been broken open,
the jewels taken away, and I'm undone.

Oh! Is that all? By the laws, I
never saw it acted better in my life.

Ecod, I thought you
was ruined in earnest.

Why, boy, I am ruined in earnest.

My bureau has been broken
open, and all taken away.

Stick to that. Ay, stick to that.
I'll bear witness, you know.

- Call me to bear witness.
- I tell you, Tony,

by all that's precious, the jewels are
gone, and I shall be ruined for ever.

Sure I know they're
gone, and I'm to say so.

My dearest Tony, but hear
me. They're gone, I say.

By the laws, mamma,
you make me for to laugh.

- Sure I know who took them well enough.
- Was there ever such a blockhead,

that can't tell the difference
between jest and earnest? I tell you

- I'm not in jest, booby.
- Oh, that's right.

That's right. You must
be in a bitter passion,

and then nobody will
suspect either of us.

I'll bear witness that they are gone.

Was there ever such a cross-grained brute,
that won't hear me? Can you bear witness

that you're no better than a fool? Was ever
poor woman so beset with fools on one hand,

and thieves on the other?

I can bear witness to that.

Bear witness again,
you blockhead you,

and I'll turn you out of the
room directly. My poor niece,

what will become of her? Do
you laugh, you unfeeling brute,

as though you enjoyed my distress?

- I can bear witness to that.
- Do you insult me, monster?

I'll teach you to vex
your mother, I will.

I can bear witness to that.

What an unaccountable creature
is that brother of mine,

to send them to
the house as an inn!

Oh, I don't wonder at his impudence.

But what is more, madam,

the young gentleman, as you
passed by in your present dress,

asked me if you were the bar-maid.

- He mistook you for the bar-maid, madam.
- Did he?

Then as I live, I'm resolved
to keep up the delusion.

Tell me, Pimple, how do
you like my present dress?

It's the dress, madam, that
every lady wears in the country,

but when she visits or receives company.

And are you sure he does not
remember my face or person?

- Certain of it.
- 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.

But what do you hope from
keeping him in his mistake?

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 is no small victory gained
over one who never addresses

any but the wildest of our 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.

But you are sure you can act your part,

and disguise your voice
so that he may mistake that,

as he has already
mistaken your person?

Never fear me. I think I
have got the true bar cant.

Did you call sir attend the Lion there,

pipes and tobacco for the Angel. The
Lamb has been outrageous this half-hour.

It will do, madam. But he's here.

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

and her curtsey down to the ground.
I have at last got a moment to myself,

and now for recollection.

Did you call, sir? Did your honor call?

As for Miss Hardcastle, she's
too grave and sentimental for me.

Did your call, sir?

No, child.
Besides, from the glimpse I had of her,

I think she squints.

I'm sure, sir, I
heard the bell ring.

No, no. I have pleased my father,
however, by coming down,

and tomorrow please
myself by returning.

Perhaps the other
gentleman called then, sir?

I tell you, no.

I should be glad to know,
sir. We have such a parcel of servants!

No, no, I tell you.
Yes, child, I think I did call.

I wanted… I wanted…

I vow, child, you are vastly handsome.

O la, sir,

you'll make one ashamed.

Never saw a more sprightly
malicious eye. Yes, yes, I did call.

Have you got any of your,

what do you call it in the house?

No, sir, we have been
out of that these 10 days.

One may call in this house,
I find, to very little purpose.

Suppose I should call for a
taste, just by way of a trial,

of the nectar of your lips, perhaps
I might be disappointed in that too.

Nectar! Nectar! That's a liquor,
there's no call for in these parts.

French, I suppose.

We keep no French wines here, sir.

Of true English growth, I assure you.

Oh, then it's odd I should not know it.
We brew all sorts of wines in this house,

- and I have lived here these 18 years.
- Eighteen years?

Why, one would think, child, you
kept the bar before you were born.

- How old are you?
- O! sir, I must not tell my age.

They say women and
music should never be dated.

To guess at this distance,
you can't be much above 40.

Yet, nearer, I don't think so much.

By coming close to some women,
they look younger still,

- but when we come very close indeed…
- Oh, pray, sir, keep your distance.

Oh, one would think you wanted to
know one's age, as they do horses.

I protest, child, you
use me extremely ill.

If you keep me at this distance, how is it
possible you and I can ever be acquainted?

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 awhile ago,

in this obstropalous manner.

I'll warrant me, before her you looked
dashed, and kept bowing to the ground,

and spoke for all the world, as if
you was before a justice of peace.

Egad, she has
hit it, true enough!

In awe of her, child? Umm…

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!

O! Then, sir, you are a favorite,
I find, among the ladies?

Yes, my dear, a great favorite.

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.

And you're so great
a favorite there, you say?

- Yes, my dear. There's Mrs. Mantrap.
- Oh!

- Lady Betty Blackleg.
- Oh!

- The Countess of Sligo.
- Oh!

Mrs. Langhorns,

old Miss Biddy Buckskin,

and your humble servant,
keep up the spirit of the place.

Oh, then it's a very
merry place, I suppose?

Yes, my dear, as merry as cards,
supper, wine, and old women can make us.

And their agreeable Rattle.

Egad! I don't quite like this chit.
She looks knowing, methinks.

You laugh, child?

Oh, no. Uh… I can't but laugh,

to think what time they all have
for minding their work or their family.

All's well, she
don't laugh at me.

Do you ever work, child?

Ay, sure.

There's not a screen or quilt in the whole
house but what can bear witness to that.

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.

Ay, sure, but the colors do
not look well by candlelight.

- You shall see all in the morning.
- And why not now, my angel?

Such beauty fires beyond
the power of resistance. Pshaw!

The Land Lord here.
My old luck,

I never nicked seven that I did
not throw ames ace three times following.

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?

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.

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 milkmaid?

And now you talk of his respect
and his modesty, forsooth!

But if I shortly convince
you of his modesty,

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.

The girl would actually
make one run mad!

I tell you, I'll not be
convinced. I am convinced.

He has scarce 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.

Sir, I ask but this night
to convince you.

You shall not
have half the time,

for I have thoughts of
turning him out this very hour.

Give me that hour then,

and I hope to satisfy you.

Well, an hour let it be then.

But I'll have no trifling with your father.

- All fair and open, you mind me.
- 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.

You surprise me, Sir Charles
Marlow expected here this night!

- Where have you had your information?
- You may depend upon it.

I just saw his
letter to Mr. Hardcastle,

in which he tells him, he intends upon
setting out a few hours after his son.

Then, my Constance, all must be
completed before he arrives. He knows me.

If he should find me here,
he might discover my designs

to the rest of the family.

The jewels, I hope, are safe?

Yes, yes, I have sent them to Marlow,
who keeps the keys of our baggage.

In the mean time, I'll go to
prepare matters for our elopement.

I have had your cousin Tony's
promise of a fresh pair of horses

and if I should not see him again,
will write him further directions.

Well! Success attend you.

In the mean time I'll go and
amuse my aunt with the old pretence

of a violent passion for my cousin.

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?
- Yes, your honor.

She said she'd keep it
safe, did she?

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.

That's lovely.

Go. Go. Go… Oh,
they're safe, however.

What an unaccountable set of beings
have we got amongst!

This little bar-maid though
runs in my mind 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.

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!

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.

Some women, you mean.

But what success has your honor's
modesty been… been crowned with…

Don't encourage him.

Been crowned with now, that
it grows so insolent upon us?

Didn't you see the tempting,
brisk, lovely little thing,

that runs about the house with
a bunch of keys to its girdle?

- Yes, what of her?
- She's mine, you rogue you.

Such fire, such motion,
such eyes, such lips,

but, egad! She would not
let me kiss them though.

But are you sure, so very sure of her?

Why, man, she talked of
showing me her work above stairs,

and I am to improve the pattern.

How can you, Charles, go about
to rob a woman of her honor?

Pshaw! Pshaw! We all know the
honor 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.

I believe the girl has virtue.

And if she has, I should be the last man in
the world that would attempt to corrupt it.

You have taken care of the
casket I sent you to lock up?

- Is it in safety?
- Yes, yes. It's safe enough.

I have taken care of it.

But how could you think
the seat of a post-coach

at an inn-door a place of safety?

Ah! Numskull!

I have taken better precautions for
you than you did for yourself,

- I have.
- What?

I have sent it to the
landlady to keep for you.

- The landlady!
- The landlady.

- You did?
- I did.

She's to be answerable
for its forthcoming, you know.

Yes, she'll bring it
forth with a witness.

Wasn't I right? I believe
you'll allow that I acted

prudently upon this occasion.

He must not see my uneasiness.

You seem a little disconcerted though,
methinks. Sure nothing has happened?

No. No. No. Never was in better spirits in
my life. So you left it with the landlady,

who, no doubt, very readily
undertook the charge.

Rather too readily.

She not only kept the casket,

but, through her great precaution,
was going to keep the messenger too.

- They're safe, however.
- As a guinea in a miser's purse.

So now all hopes of fortune are at
an end, and we must set off without it.

Well, Charles, I'll leave you to your
philosophizing on the pretty bar-maid.

May you be as successful for
yourself, as you have been for me!

Thank you, George,
I ask no more.

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.

Mr. Marlow, your servant.

- I'm your very humble servant.
- Sir, your humble servant.

- What's to be the wonder now?
- I hope, 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?
- I do from my soul, sir.

I don't want much entreaty.

I generally make my father's
son welcome wherever he goes.

Oh, I believe you
do, from my soul, sir.

But why will 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.

I protest, my very good
friend, that is no fault of mine.

If they don't drink as they
ought, they are to blame.

I ordered them not to spare the
cellar. I did, I assure you.

Here, let one of my
servants come up.

My positive directions were, that
as I did not drink myself,

they should make up
for my deficiencies below.

Then they had your orders
for what they do? I'm satisfied!

They had, I assure you. You
shall hear from one of themselves.

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?

- I begin to lose my patience.
- Please your honor,

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 my conscience.

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.

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 now,

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.
- Leave your house?

Sure you jest, my good friend! What?
When I'm doing what I can to please you.

I tell you, sir, you don't please me,
so I desire you'll leave my house.

Sure you cannot be serious?
At this time so' night,

and such a night?

- You only mean to banter me.
- 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.

A puddle in a storm. I shan't stir a step,
I assure you. 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.

Nor I, confound me if ever I did.

To come to my house,
to call for what he likes,

to turn me out of my own
chair, to insult the family,

to order his servants to get drunk, and
then to tell me, "This house is mine, sir."

By all that's impudent, it
makes me laugh. Ha! ha! ha!

Well, pray, sir, as
you take the house,

what think you of taking
the rest of the furniture?

Here, there's a pair
of silver candlesticks,

and here's a fire-screen, and
here's a pair of brazen-nosed bellows,

- perhaps you may take a fancy to them?
- Bring me your bill, sir.

Bring me your bill,
and let's make no more words about it.

Oh, here's a set of prints, too.

What think you of the Rake's
Progress, for your own apartment?

Bring me your bill, I say and I'll leave
you and your infernal house directly.

Then there's a mahogany table

- in which you may see your own face.
- My bill, I say.

Oh, and I almost
forgot the great chair

for your own particular
slumbers, after a hearty meal.

Zounds! Bring me my bill, I
say, and let's hear no more on't.

Young man, young man,

from your father's letter to me,

I was taught to expect a modest
well-bred 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 he shall hear more of it.

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.

Oh, let it be short,
then. I'm in a hurry.

I believe be begins
to find out his mistake.

But it's too soon quite to undeceive him.

Pray, child, answer me
one question. What are you,

and what may your
business in this house be?

A relation of the family, sir.

What, a poor relation.

Yes, sir. A poor relation,

appointed to keep the keys,

and to see that the guests want
nothing in my power to give them.

That is, you act as
the bar-maid of this inn.

Inn! O law… What
brought that in your head?

One of the best families
in the country keep an inn.

Old Mr. Hardcastle's
house an inn!

Mr. Hardcastle's house!

Is this Mr. Hardcastle's house, child?

Ay, sure! Whose else should it be?

So then, all's out,

and I have been damnably imposed on.

Don't confound my stupid head. I
shall be laughed at over the whole town.

I shall be stuck up in
caricatura in all the print-shops.

The Dullissimo Maccaroni.

To mistake this house
of all others for an inn,

and my father's old
friend for an innkeeper! Oh!

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.

Dear me! Dear me!

I'm sure there's nothing in my behavior to
put me on a level with one of that stamp.

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.

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.

Oh-oh. Oh-oh. 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.

By Heaven! She weeps. This
is the first mark of tenderness

I ever had from a modest woman, and it…

it touches me.

Excuse me, my lovely girl.

You are the only part of the family
I leave with reluctance.

But to be plain with you,

the difference of our birth,
fortune, and education,

makes an honorable connection impossible.

Generous man!

I now begin
to admire him.

But I am sure my family is as good as
Miss Hardcastle's and though I'm poor,

that's no great misfortune
to a contented mind and,

until this moment, I never thought
that it was bad to lack fortune.

And why now,
my pretty simplicity?

Because it puts me at a distance from
one that, if I had a thousand pounds,

I would give it all to.

This simplicity bewitches me,

so that if I stay, I'm undone.

I must make one bold effort, and leave her.

Your partiality in my favor, 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.

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.

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.

Oh, thanks a lot.

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.

To be sure,

aunts of all kinds are damned
bad things. But what can I do?

I have got you a pair of horses
that will fly like Whistle-jacket

and I'm sure you can't say but I have
courted you nicely before her face.

Here she comes,

we must court a bit or two more,
for fear she should suspect us.

Well, I was greatly
fluttered, to be sure.

But my son says 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.

- Oh, Constance. Oh!
- But what do I see?

- Fondling together, as I'm alive.
- Oh, mardy you saucepot.

I never saw Tony so sprightly before.

Ah! Have I caught you, my pretty doves?

What, billing, exchanging stolen glances

and broken murmurs?
Ah!

As for murmurs, mother, we grumble
a little now and then, to be sure.

But there's no love lost between us.

A mere sprinkling, Tony, upon the
flame, only to make it burn brighter.

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?
- 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.

Oh, your laugh makes you so becoming.

Agreeable cousin! Who can
help admiring that natural humor,

that pleasant, broad, red,

thoughtless, uh… it's a bold face.

Pretty innocence!

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.

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.,

they 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 Dr. Drowsy's sermons,

- to a fitter opportunity.
- Where's the 'squire?

I have got a letter for your worship.

Give it to my mamma.
She reads all my letters first.

I had orders to deliver
it into your own hands.

Who does it come from?

Your worship mun
ask that o' the letter itself.

- Oh, I could wish to know though.
- 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.

But I have not
told you, madam, of

my cousin's smart answer
just now to Mr. Marlow.

We so laughed. You must
know, madam. This way a little,

for he must not hear us.

A damned cramp piece

of penmanship, as
ever I saw in my life.

I can read your print
hand very well. But here,

there are such handles,
and shanks, and dashes,

that one can scarce
tell the head from the tail.

To Anthony Lumpkin, Esquire."

It's very odd, I can read the outside of my
letters, where my own name is, well enough,

but when I come to
open it, it's all buzz.

And that's hard, very hard,
for the inside of the letter

is always the cream
of the correspondence.

Very well. Very well.

So my son was too
hard for the philosopher.

Yes, madam, but you
must hear the rest, madam.

A little more this way, or he may hear
us. You'll hear how he puzzled him again.

He seems strangely
puzzled now, methinks.

A damned up and down hand,
as if it was disguised in liquor.

Dear Esquire,
uh… ay, that's that.

Then there's an Ma, and Ta, and an Sa,

but whether the next be an izzard,
or an Ra, confound me, I cannot tell.

What's that, my dear? Can
I give you any assistance?

Pray, aunt, let me read it.

Nobody reads a cramp
hand better than I.

Do you know who it is from?

Can't tell. Oh, except from
Dick Ginger, the feeder.

Ay, so it is.

Dear 'Squire, hoping that you're
in health, as I am at this present.

The gentlemen of the Shake-bag club

has cut the gentlemen of
Goose-green quite out of feather.

The odd battle,

long fighting… Oh, here.

Oh, here… here. It's all about cocks
and fighting. Oh, it's of no consequence.

Here, put it up, put it up.

But I tell you, miss, it's of all
the consequence in the world.

I would not lose the
rest of it for a guinea.

Here, mother, do you make
it out. Of no consequence!

How's this?

"Dear 'Squire, I'm now
waiting for Miss Neville,

with a post-chaise and pair,
at the bottom of the garden.

I'm intrigued.

But I find my horses yet unable

to perform the journey. I expect you'll
assist us with a pair of fresh horses,

as you promised. Dispatch
is necessary, as the hag…

I the hag?

Your mother, will otherwise suspect us!

Yours, Hastings." Grant me
patience. I shall run distracted!

- My rage chokes me.
- I hope, madam,

you'll suspend your resentment for
a few moments, and not impute to me

any impertinence, or sinister
design, that belongs to another.

Fine spoken, madam, you are most
miraculously polite and engaging,

and quite the very pink of courtesy
and circumspection, madam.

And you…

you great ill-fashioned oaf, with scarce
sense enough to keep your mouth shut.

Were you, too, joined against me? Well,
I'll defeat all your plots in a moment.

As for you, madam, since you
have got a pair of fresh horses ready,

it would be cruel to disappoint
them. So, if you please,

instead of running
away with your spark,

prepare, this very
moment, to run off with me.

Your old aunt Pedigree
will keep you secure,

for three years I'll
warrant me.

You too, sir,

may mount your horse,
and guard us upon the way.

Here, Thomas, Roger,
Diggory! I'll show you,

that I wish you better
than you do yourselves.

- So now I'm completely ruined.
- Ay, that's a sure thing.

What better could be expected from
being connected with such a stupid fool,

and after all the nods and signs
I made him?

By the laws, miss,

it was your own cleverness,
and not my stupidity,

that did your business.
Oh, you were so nice

and so busy with your
Shake-bags and Goose-greens,

that I thought you could never be making
believe.

So, sir, I find by my servant, that you
have shown my letter, and betrayed us.

- Was this well done, young gentleman?
- Here's another.

Ask miss there, who betrayed
you. Ecod, it was her doing, not mine.

So I have been finely used here
among you. Rendered contemptible,

driven into ill manners,
despised, insulted, laughed at.

Here's another. We shall have
old Bedlam broke loose presently.

And there, sir, is the gentleman to
whom we all owe every obligation.

What can I say to him, a mere boy,

an idiot, whose ignorance
and age are a protection?

A poor contemptible booby,

booby,

you disgrace correction.

Yet with cunning and malice
enough to make himself merry

with all our embarrassments.
- An insensible cub.

Replete with tricks and mischief.

Baw! Damme, I'll fight you
both, one after the other…

Wow, with baskets.

As for him, he's below resentment.

But your conduct, Mr. Hastings,
requires an explanation.

You knew of my mistakes,
yet would not undeceive me.

Tortured as I am with
my own disappointments,

is this a time for explanations?
No. No. It is not friendly, Mr. Marlow.

- But, sir…
- Mr. Marlow, we never kept on your mistake

till it was too late to
undeceive you. Be pacified.

My mistress desires you'll
get ready immediately, madam.

The horses are putting to. Your
hat and things are in the next room.

- You are to go 30 miles before morning.
- Well… well, I'll come presently.

Was it well done, sir, to assist
in rendering me ridiculous?

To hang me out for the
scorn of all my acquaintance?

Depend upon it, sir, I
shall expect an explanation.

Was it well done, sir, while
we're upon that subject,

to deliver what I entrusted to
yourself, to the care of another sir?

Mr. Hastings! Mr. Marlow!

Why will you increase
my distress by this groundless dispute?

- I implore, I entreat you…
- Your cloak, madam.

- My mistress is impatient.
- I come.

Pray be pacified. If I leave
you thus, I shall die with apprehension.

Your fan, muff, and gloves, madam.

- The horses are waiting.
- O, Mr. Marlow!

If you knew what a scene of
constraint and ill-nature lies before me,

I'm sure it would convert
your resentment into pity.

I'm so distracted with
a variety of passions,

that I don't know what I
do. Forgive me, madam.

George, forgive me. You know my
hasty temper, and should not exasperate it.

The torture of my
situation is my only excuse.

Well, my dear Hastings,

if you have that esteem for me
that I think, that I am sure you have,

your constancy for three years

will but increase the happiness
of our future connection.

Miss Neville.

- Constance? Why Constance, I say.
- I'm coming.

Well, constancy, remember,

constancy is the word.

My heart!

How can I support this?

To be so near happiness,
and

such happiness!

You see now, young
gentleman, the effects of your folly.

What might be amusement
to you, is here disappointment,

and even distress.

Ecod, I have hit it.

Oh, it's here. Your hands.
Yours and yours, my poor Sulky!

My boots there, ho!

Meet me two hours hence
at the bottom of the garden

and if you don't find Tony Lumpkin a more
good-natured fellow than you thought for,

I'll give you leave to take my best
horse, and Bet Bouncer into the bargain.

Come along. My boots, ho!

You saw the old lady and
Miss Neville drive off, you say?

- Yes, your honor.
- They went off in a post-coach,

and the young 'squire
went on horseback.

- They must be 30 miles off by this time.
- Then all my hopes are over.

Yes, sir.
Old Sir Charles has arrived.

He and the old gentleman of the house
have been laughing at Mr. Marlow's mistake

- this past half hour.
- They are coming this way.

Then I must not be seen.

So now to my fruitless appointment
at the bottom of the garden.

It is about the time.

Oh, the peremptory tone in which
he sent forth his sublime commands!

And the reserve with which I
suppose he treated all your advances.

And yet he might have seen something
in me above a common innkeeper, too.

Yes, Dick, but he mistook you for
an uncommon innkeeper, ha! ha! ha!

Well, I'm in too good spirits
to think of anything but joy.

Yes, my dear friend,

this union of our families will make
our personal friendships hereditary

and though my daughter's
fortune is but small…

Why, Dick, will you
talk of fortune to me?

My son is possessed of more
than a competence already,

and can want nothing
but a good and virtuous girl

to share his happiness and increase it.

If they like each
other, as you say they do…

If, man! I tell you they do like each
other. My daughter as good as told me so.

Uh… But girls are apt to
flatter themselves, you know.

I saw him grasp her hand
in the warmest manner myself

and here he comes to put
you out of your ifs, I warrant him.

Uh-huh… My son,
come boy, come.

I come, sir, once more, to ask
pardon for my strange conduct.

I can scarce reflect on my
insolence without confusion.

Oh, tut, boy, a trifle!
You make it too gravely.

An hour or two's laughing with my
daughter will set all to rights again.

She'll never like
you the worse for it.

Sir, I shall be always
proud of her approbation.

Approbation is but a
cold word, Mr. Marlow.

If I am not mistaken, you have something
more than approbation thereabouts.

You take me?

- Really, sir, I have not that happiness.
- Oh, come, boy,

I'm an old fellow, and know what's
what as well as you that are younger.

I know what has passed
between you, but mum.

Sure… sure, sir, nothing
has passed between us

but the most profound respect on my
side, and the most distant reserve on hers.

You don't think, sir, that my
impudence has been passed

- upon all the rest of the family.
- Impudence!

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.

- I never gave her the slightest cause.
- Oh, come boy.

I like modesty in its place
well enough. But this…

This is over-acting,
young gentleman.

You may be open. Your father
and I will like you all the better for it.

- May I die, sir, if I ever…
- I tell you, she don't dislike you

and as I'm sure you like her…

- Yes, I protest, sir.
- I see no reason

why you should not be joined
as fast as the parson can tie you.

- But hear me, sir…
- Your father approves the match,

I admire it, every moment's
delay will be doing mischief.

- So…
- 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.

This fellow's formal modest
impudence is beyond bearing.

And you never grasped her
hand, or made any protestations?

As Heaven is my witness, I came
down in obedience to your commands.

I… I saw the lady without emotion,
and parted without reluctance.

I hope you'll exact no
farther proofs of my duty,

nor prevent me from leaving a house
in which I suffer so many mortifications.

I'm astonished

at the air of sincerity with which
he parted.

And I'm astonished at the
deliberate intrepidity of his assurance.

I dare pledge my life
and honor upon his truth.

Here comes my daughter, and I dare
stake my happiness upon her veracity.

Kate, come hither, child. Answer
us sincerely and without reserve.

Has Mr. Marlow made you any
professions of love and affection?

The question is very abrupt, sir. But
since you require unreserved sincerity,

I think he has.

- Ha… You see.
- And pray, madam,

have you and my son had
more than one interview?

- Yes, sir, several.
- Hah! You see.

- Did be profess any attachment?
- A lasting one.

- Did he talk of love?
- Much, sir.

- Amazing! And all this formally?
- Formally.

- Now, my friend, I hope you are satisfied.
- And how did he behave, madam?

As most profest admirers do,
said some civil things of my face,

talked much of his lack of
merit, and the greatness of mine,

mentioned his heart, gave
a short tragedy speech,

and ended with pretended rapture.

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, that
he never sat for the picture.

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 hide yourselves,

you shall hear him declare
his passion to me in person.

Agreed.
And if I find him what you describe,

all my happiness in
him must have an end.

And if you don't find
him what I describe,

I fear my happiness must
never have a beginning.

What an idiot I am.

Thank you.

I'm waiting here for a fellow who
probably takes a delight in mortifying me.

He never intended to be
punctual, and I'll wait no longer.

It is he! And perhaps with
news of my Constance.

My dear 'squire! I now find you a man
of your word. This looks like friendship.

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
bye, is cursedly tiresome.

It shook me worse than
the basket of a stage-coach.

But how? Where
have you… Yes, right.

Where have you left your fellow-travelers?
Are they in safety? Are they housed?

Five and twenty miles in two hours
and a half is no such bad driving.

The poor beasts
have smoked for it.

Rabbit me,

but I'd rather ride 40 miles after
a fox than 10 with such varment.

Where have you left the ladies?
I die with impatience.

Left them!

Why where should I leave
them but where I found them?

- This is a riddle.
- Riddle me this then.

What's that goes round the
house, and round the house,

but never touches the house?

No, still astray.

Why, that's it, man.
I have led them astray.

By jingo, there's not a slough or a
pond within five miles of the place

- that they can tell the taste of.
- I understand you.

You took them in a round, when they
supposed themselves going forward,

so you have at last
brought them home again.

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.

- Bravo. Bravo. No accident, I hope?
- No, no.

Only mother is confoundedly frightened.
She thinks herself 40 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.

My dear friend,
how can I be grateful?

Ay, now it's dear
friend, noble 'squire.

Just now, it was all idiot, cub,
and run me through the guts.

But if you had run me through
the guts, then I should be dead,

- and you might go kiss the hangman.
- The rebuke is just.

But I must hasten
to relieve Miss Neville,

if you keep the old lady employed, I'll
take care of the young one.

Never fear me.

Oh, vanish, she's here.

She's got from the horse pond, and
draggled up to the waist like a mermaid.

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.

Alack, mamma, it
was all your own fault.

You would be for running away by
night, without knowing one inch of the way.

I wish we were at home again.

I never met with so many
accidents in so short a journey.

Drenched in 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?

By my guess we should
come upon Crackskull Common,

- about 40 miles from home.
- O lud! O lud!

The most notorious
spot in all the country.

We only want a robbery to
make a complete night on't.

Don't be afraid,
mamma, don't be afraid.

Two of the five highway men
that are kept here are hanged,

and the other three may not find us.

Don't be afraid. Is that a
man galloping behind us?

No, it's only a tree.
Don't be afraid, mamma.

Oh, the fright
will certainly kill me.

Do you see anything like a black hat
moving through that thicket?

- Oh, death!
- No; it's only a cow.

Don't be afraid, mamma,
don't be afraid.

Tony, as I'm alive, I see
a man coming towards us.

I'm sure on't. If he
perceives us, we are undone.

Father-in-law, by all that's unlucky,
come to take one of his night walks.

- Ah…
- What?

It's a highwayman with
pistols as long as my arm.

- A damned ill-looking fellow.
- Good Heaven defend us!

- He approaches.
- 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 stay hidden.

I'm mistaken, or I heard
voices of people in want of help.

Oh, Tony!
Is that you?

I did not expect to see you so soon back.
Are your mother and her charge in safety?

Oh, very safe, sir, at
my aunt Pedigree, sir.

- Hem.
- Ah, death! I find there's danger.

Forty miles in three hours, sure
that's too much, my youngster.

Stout horses and willing minds
make short journeys, so they say.

- Hem.
- Sure he'll do the dear boy no harm.

But I heard a voice here and should
be glad to know from whence it came.

Oh, it was I, sir,
talking to myself, sir.

I was saying that 40 miles in
four hours was very good going.

Hem. As to be sure it was. Hem. Hem.

I have a sort of cold being out in
the air. We'll go in, if you please.

But if you talked to yourself,
you did not answer yourself.

I'm sure and I heard two voices,
and am resolved to find the other out.

Oh! He's coming to find me out. Oh!

What need you go, sir, if I tell you?

Hem. I'll lay down my life for
the truth, sir. Hem. I'll tell you all.

I tell you I will not be
detained. I insist on seeing.

- It's in vain to expect I'll believe you.
- O lud!

He'll murder my poor boy, my darling!

Here, good Mr. Highwayman, whet
your rage upon me. Take my money,

my life, but spare this young gentleman,
spare my child, if you have any mercy.

My wife,
as I'm a Christian.

From whence can she come?
Or what does she mean?

Take compassion on us,
lovely Mr. Highwayman.

Take our watches,
our money, all we have,

but spare our lives. We
will never bring you to justice,

indeed we won't,
dashing Mr. Highwayman.

I believe the woman's out
of her senses. What, Dorothy,

don't you know me?

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?

Sure, Dorothy, you
have not lost your wits?

So far from home, when you are
within 40 yards of your own door!

This is one of your old tricks,
you graceless rogue, you.

But don't you know the gate,
and the mulberry-tree

and don't you remember
the horse-pond, my dear?

Yes.

I shall remember the
horse-pond as long as I live.

I have caught my death in it. And it is to
you, you graceless varlet, I owe all this?

I'll teach you to abuse
your mother, I will.

Oh, alack, mother, the whole
parish said you have spoiled me,

- so you may take the fruits on't.
- I'll spoil you, I will.

There's morality, however, in his reply.

My dear Constance, why will you
deliberate thus? If we delay a moment,

all is lost for ever. Pluck
up a little resolution,

we shall soon be out of
the reach of her malignity.

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.

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!
- 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'm resolved to apply to Mr. Hardcastle's
compassion and justice for redress.

But though he had the will, he
has not the power to relieve you.

But he has influence, and
upon that I am resolved to rely.

I have no hopes.

But since you persist, I
must reluctantly obey you.

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.

I am proud of your approbation,
and to show I merit it,

if you hide yourselves as I directed,
you shall hear his explicit declaration.

But he comes.

Oh, I'll to your father, and
keep him to the appointment.

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.

I believe 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.

This girl every moment improves upon me.

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.

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.

- Come, over here.
- Shh… Make no noise.

I'll engage my Kate covers
him with confusion at last.

By heavens, madam! Fortune
was ever my smallest consideration.

Your beauty at first caught my eye,

for who could see that without emotion?

But every moment that I converse with you

steals in some new grace,
heightens the picture,

and gives it stronger expression.

What at first seemed
rustic plainness,

now appears refined simplicity.

What seemed forward assurance,

now strikes me as the result of
courageous innocence and conscious virtue.

- What can it mean? He amazes me!
- I told you how it would be. Hush!

I am now determined to stay, madam,

and I have too good an opinion of my
father's discernment, when he sees you,

to doubt his approbation.

No, Mr. Marlow, I
cannot, will not detain you.

Do you think I could
suffer a connection

in which there is the
smallest room for repentance?

Do you think I would take the mean
advantage of a transient passion,

to load you with confusion?

Do you think I could
ever relish that happiness

which was acquired by lessening yours?

By all that's good, I
can have no happiness

but what's in your power to grant me!

Nor shall I ever feel repentance but
in not having seen your merits before.

I will stay even contrary
to your wishes and

though you should
persist to shun me,

I will make my respectful assiduities
atone for the levity of my past conduct.

Sir, I must entreat you'll desist.

As our acquaintance began,
so let it end, in indifference.

I might have given
an hour or two to levity,

but seriously, Mr. Marlow,

do you think I could submit to a connection
where I must appear mercenary,

and you imprudent?

Do you think I could ever catch at the
confident addresses of a secure admirer?

Does this look like security?

Does this look like confidence?

No, madam, every moment
that shows me your merit,

only serves to increase
my diffidence and confusion.

Charles, Charles, how
hast thou deceived me!

Is this your indifference, your
uninteresting conversation?

Your cold contempt, your formal
interview! What have you to say now?

That I'm all amazement!
What can it mean?

It means that you can say
and unsay things at pleasure,

that you can address a lady
in private, and deny it in public,

that you have one story for
us, and another for my daughter.

Daughter!

- This lady your daughter?
- Yes, sir, my only daughter,

- my Kate, whose else should she be?
- Oh, the devil!

Yes, sir, that very
identical tall squinting lady

you were pleased to take me for.

She that you addressed as the mild,
modest, sentimental man of gravity,

and the bold, forward, agreeable
Rattle of the Ladies' Club.

Zounds! There's no bearing
this, it's worse than death!

In which of your characters, sir,
will you give us leave to address you?

As the faltering gentleman, with looks to
the ground, that speaks just to be heard,

and hates hypocrisy

or the loud confident creature,
that keeps it up with Mrs. Mantrap,

and old Miss Biddy Buckskin,
till three in the morning?

O, curse on my noisy head.

I never attempted to be impudent
yet, that I was not taken down.

I must be gone.

By the hand of my body, but you shall not.

I see now it all a mistake,
and I am rejoiced to find it.

You shall not stir, I tell you.

I know she'll forgive you.
Won't you forgive him, Kate?

We'll all forgive you.
Take courage, man.

So…so, they're gone off.
Let them go, I care not.

- Who gone?
- My dutiful niece and her gentleman,

Mr. Hastings, from town, he who
came down with our modest visitor here.

Who, my honest George
Hastings? As worthy a fellow as lives,

and the girl could not have
made a more prudent choice.

Then, by the hand of my body,
I'm proud of the connection.

Well, if he has taken away the
lady, he has not taken her fortune,

that remains in this family
to console us for her loss.

Sure, Dorothy, you would
not be so mercenary?

Ay, that's my affair, not yours.

But you know if your son, when
of age, refuses to marry his cousin,

her whole fortune is
then at her own disposal.

Ay, but he's not of age, and she has
not thought proper to wait for his refusal.

What, returned so soon!

I begin not to like it.

For my late attempt to
fly off with your niece,

let my present confusion
be my punishment.

We are now come back, to appeal
from your justice to your humanity.

By her father's consent, I
first paid her my addresses,

and our passions were
first founded in duty.

Since his death, I have been obliged to
stoop to dissimulation to avoid oppression.

In an hour of levity, I was
ready to give up my fortune

to secure my choice. But I am
now recovered from the delusion,

and hope from your tenderness what
is denied me from a nearer connection.

Pshaw, pshaw! This is all but
the whining end of a modern novel.

Be it what it will, I'm glad they're
come back to reclaim their due.

Come hither, Tony, boy.

Do you refuse this lady's
hand whom I now offer you?

What signifies my refusing?

You know I can't refuse
her till I'm of age, father.

While I thought concealing your age, boy,
was likely to conduce to your improvement,

I concurred with your
mother's desire to keep it secret.

But since I now find she
turns it to a wrong use,

I must declare you have been
of age these three months.

Of age!

- Am I of age, father?
- Above three months.

Then you'll see the first
use I'll make of my liberty.

Witness all men by these presents,

that I, Anthony Lumpkin,
Esquire, of blank place,

refuse you, Constantia Neville,
spinster, of no place at all,

for his true and lawful wife.

So Constance Neville may
marry whom she pleases,

and Tony Lumpkin
is his own man again.

- O brave 'squire!
- My worthy friend!

My undutiful offspring!

Joy, my dear George!
I give you joy sincerely.

And could I prevail upon my
little tyrant here to be less arbitrary,

I should be the happiest man
alive, if you would return me the favor.

Come, madam,

you are driven now to the very
last scene of all your contrivances.

I know that you like him,

and I'm sure he loves you,

and you must
and shall have him.

And I say so too.
And, Mr. Marlow,

if she makes as good a
wife as she has a daughter,

I don't believe you'll ever repent
your bargain. So now to supper.

To-morrow we shall gather all
the poor of the parish about us,

and the mistakes of the night will
be crowned with a merry morning.

So, boy, take her,

and as you have been
mistaken in the mistress,

my wish is, that you may never
be mistaken in the wife.