Mrs Hard. He coughs sometimes.
Hurd. Yes, when his liquor goes the wrong

way.

Mrs Hard. I'm actually afraid of his lungs. Hard. And truly so am I; for he sometimes whoops like a speaking trumpet-[TONY hallooing behind the scenes.]-O there he goes-A very consumptive figure, truly.

Enter TONY, crossing the Stage.

Mrs Hard. Tony, where are you going, my charmer? Won't you give papa andI a little of your company, lovee?

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

Mrs Hard. You sha'n't venture out this raw evening, my dear: You look most shockingly. Tony. I cann't stay, I tell you. The Three Pigeons expects me down every moment. There's some fun going forward.

Hard. Ay; the ale-house, the old place: I thought

Mrs Hard. A low, paltry, set of fellows.

Tony. Not so low neither. There's Dick Muggins the exciseman, Jack Slang the horse-doctor, little Aminadab that grinds the music box, and Tom Twist that spins the pewter platter.

Mrs Hard. Pray, my dear, disappoint them for one night at least.

Tony. As for disappointing them, I should not so much mind, but I cann't abide to disappoint myself.

Mrs Hard. [Detaining him.] You shaʼn't go.
Tony. I will, I tell you.

Mrs Hard. I say you sha'n't. Tony. We'll see which is strongest, you or I. [Exit, huwling her out. Hard. Ay, there goes a pair that only spoil each other. But is not the whole age in a combination to drive sense and discretion out of doors? There's ny pretty darling Kate; the fashions of the times have almost infected her too. By living a year or two in town, she is as fond of gauze, and French frippery, as the best of them.

Enter Miss HARDCASTLE.

Hard. Blessings on my pretty innocence! Drest out as usual, my Kate. Goodness! what a quantity of superfluous silk hast thou got about thee, girl! I could never teach the fools of this age, that the indigent world could be cloathed out of the trimmings of the vain.

Miss Hard. You know our agreement, sir. You allow me the morning to receive and pay visits, and to dress in my own manner, and in the evening I put on my housewife's dress to please you. Hard. Well, remember I insist on the terms of our agreement; and, by the bye, I believe I shall have occasion to try your obedience this very even ing.

Miss Hard. I protest, Sir, I don't comprehend your meaning.

Hard. Then, to be plain with you, Kate, I expect the young gentleman I have chosen to be your husband from town this very day. I have his

Miss Hard Indeed! I wish I had known something of this before. Bless me, how shall I behave? It's a thousand to one I 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.

Hurd. Depend upon it, child, I'll never controul your choice; but Mr Marlow, whom I have pitched upon, is the son of my old friend, Sir Charles Marlow, of whom you have heard me talk so often. The young gentleman has been bred a scholar, and is designed for an employment in the service of his country. I am told he's a man of an excellent understanding.

Miss Hard. Is he?
Hurd. Very generous.

Miss Hurd. I believe I shall like him.
Hard. Young and brave.

Miss Hard. I'm sure I shall like him.
Hard. And very handsome.

Miss Hard. My dear papa, say no more; [Kissing his hand.] he's mine, I'll have him.

Hard. And, to crown all, Kate, he's one of the most bashful and reserved young fellows in all the world.

Miss Hard. Eh! you have frozen me to death again. That word reserved, has undone all the rest of his accomplishments. A reserved lover, it is said, always makes a suspicious husband.

Hurd. On the contrary, modesty seldom resides in a breast that is not enriched with nobler virtues. It was the very feature in his character that first struck me.

Miss Hard. He must have more striking features to catch me, I promise you. However, if he be so young, so handsome, and so every thing, as you mention, I believe he'll do still. I think I'll have him.

Hard. Ay, Kate, but there is still an obstacle. It's more than an even wager he may not have you.

Miss Hard. My dear papa, why will you mortify one so?-Well, if he refuses, instead of breaking my heart at his indifference, I'll only break my glass for its flattery; set my cap to some newer fashion, and lookout for some less difficult admirer.

Hard. Bravely resolved! In the mean time 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."

[Erit.

Miss Hard. Lud, this news of papa's puts me all in a flutter. Young, handsome; these he put last; but I put them foremost. Sensible, goodnatured; I like all that. But then reserved and sheepish, that's much against him. Yet cann't he be cured of his timidity, by being taught to be proud of his wife? Yes, and cann't I--But I vow I'm disposing of the husband, before I have secured the lover.

Enter Miss NEVILLE.

Miss Hard. I'm glad you're come, Neville, my dear. Tell me, Constance, how do I look this

Miss Nev. He's a very singular character, I assure you. Among women of reputation and virtue, he is the modestest man alive; but his acquaintance give him a very different character among creatures of another stamp: you understand me?

Miss Hard. An odd character, indeed. I shall never be able to manage him. What shall I do? Pshaw! think no more of him, but trust to occurrences for success. But how goes on your own affair, my dear; has my mother been courting you for my brother Tony as usual?

Miss Nev. I have just come from one of our agreeable tête-a-têtes. She has been saying a hundred tender things, and setting off her pretty monster as the very pink of perfection.

Miss Hard. And her partiality is such, that she actually thinks him so. A fortune like yours is no small temptation. Besides, as she has the sole management of it, I'm not surprised to see her unwilling to let it go out of the family.

Miss Nev. A fortune like mine, which chiefly consists in jewels, is no such mighty temptation. But at any rate, if my dear Hastings be but constant, I make no doubt to be too hard for her at last. However, I let her suppose that I am in love with her son, and she never once dreams that my affections are fixed upon another.

Miss Hard. My good brother holds out stoutly. I could almost love him for hating you so.

Miss Nev. It is a good-natured creature at bottom, and I'm sure would wish to see me married to any body but himself. But my aunt's bell rings for our afternoon's walk round the improvements. Allons! courage is necessary, as our affairs are critical.

Miss Hard. Would it were bed time, and all were well. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-An Alehouse Room.
Several shabby Fellows, with Punch and Tobacco.
TONY at the head of the Table, a little higher

than the rest: A mallet in his hand.
Om. Hurrea, hurrea, hurrea, bravo!

1st Fel. The 'squire has got spunk in him. 2d Fel. I loves to hear him sing, bekeays he never gives us nothing that's low.

3d Fel. O damn any thing that's low. I cannot bear it.

4th Fel. The genteel thing is the genteel thing at any time. If so be that a gentleman bees in a concatenation accordingly.

3d Fel. I like the maxum of it, Master Muggins. What though I am obligated to dance a bear, a man may be a gentleman for all that. May this be my poison if my bear ever dances but to the very genteelest of tunes. Water Parted, or the minute in Ariadne.

2d Fel. What a pity it is the 'squire is not come to his own. It would be well for all the publicans within ten miles round of him.

Tony. Ecod, and so it would, Master Slang. I'd then shew what it was to keep choice of company.

2d Fel. O he takes after his own father for that-To be sure old 'Squire Lumpkin was the finest gentleman I ever set my eyes on. For winding the streight horn, or beating a thicket for a hare, or a wench, he never had his fellow.

It was a saying in the place, that he kept the best horses, dogs, and girls in the whole county. Tony. Ecod, and when I'm of age, I'll be no bastard, I promise you. I have been thinking of Bett Bouncer and the miller's grey mare to begin with. But come, my boys, drink about and be merry, for you pay no reckoning. Well, Stingo, what's the matter?

Enter Landlord.

Land. There be two gentlemen in a post-chaise at the door. They have lost their way upo' the forest; and they are talking something about Mr Hardcastle.

Tony. As sure as can be, one of them must be the gentleman that's coming down to court my sister. Do they seem to be Londoners?

Land. I believe they may. They look woundily like Frenchmen.

Tony. Then desire them to step this way, and I'll set them right in a twinkling. [Exit Landlord.] Gentlemen, as they mayn't be good enough company for you, step down for a moment, and I'll be with you in the squeezing of a lemon.

[Exeunt Mob. Tony. 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 grumbleto nian! But then I'm afraid-afraid of what? I shall soon be worth fifteen hundred a-year, and let him frighten me out of that if he can.

Enter Landlord, conducting Marlow and HASTINGS.

Mar. What a tedious uncomfortable day have we had of it! We were told it was but forty miles across the country, and we have come above threescore.

Hast. And all, Marlow, from that unaccountable reserve of yours, that would not let us enquire more frequently on the way.

Mar. I own, Hastings, I am unwilling to lay myself under an obligation to every one I meet; and often stand the chance of an unmannerly

answer.

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

Tony. No offence, gentlemen. But I'm told you have been enquiring for one Mr Hardcastle in these parts. Do you know what part of the

country you are in? Hast. Not in the least, sir, but should thank you for information.

Tony. Nor the way you came

?

Hast. No, sir; but if you can inform us-Tony. Why, gentlemen, if you know neither the road you are going, nor where you are, nor the road you came, the first thing I have to inform you is, that-You have lost your way.

Mar. We wanted no ghost to tell us that. Tony. Pray, gentlemen, may I be so bold as to ask the place from whence you came? Mar. That's not necessary towards directing us where we are to go.

Tony. No offence: but question for question

is all fair, you know. Pray, gentlemen, is not this same Hardcastle a cross-grained, old-fashi oned, whimsical fellow, with an ugly face, a daughter, and a pretty son?

Hast. We have not seen the gentleman, but he has the family you mention.

Tony. The daughter a tall, trapessing, trolloping, talkative maypole--The son a pretty, welbred, agreeable youth, that every body is fond of?

Mar. Our information differs in this. The daughter is said to be well-bred and beautiful; the son, an awkward booby, reared up and spoiled at his mother's apron-string.

Tony. He-he-hem-Then, gentlemen, all I have to tell you is, that you won't reach Mr Hardcastle's house this night, I believe.

Hast. Unfortunate!

Tony. It's a damn'd long, dark, boggy, dirty, dangerous way. Stingo, tell the gentlemen the way to Mr Hardcastle's; [Winking upon the Lendlord.] Mr Hardcastle's, of Quagmire Marsh, you understand me?

my

Land. Master Hardcastle's! Lock-a-daisy, m masters, you're come a deadly deal wrong! When you came to the bottom of the hill, you should have cross'd down Squash-lane.

Mar. Cross down 'Squash-lane!

Land. Then you were to keep streight forward, till you came to four roads.

Mar. Come to where four roads meet! Tony. Ay; but you must be sure to take only one of them.

Mar. O sir, you're facetious.

Tony. Then keeping to the right, you are to go sideways till you come upon Crack-skull common: there you must look sharp for the track of the wheel, and go forward, till you come to farmer Murrain's barn. Coming to the farmer's barn, you are to turn to the right, and then to the left, and then to the right about again, till you find out the old mill

Mur. Zounds, man! we could as soon find out the longitude!

Hast. What's to be done, Marlow? Mar. This house promises but a poor reception; though perhaps the landlord can accommodate

us.

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

Tony. And, to my knowledge, that's taken up by three lodgers already. [After a pause, in which the rest seem disconcerted.] I have hit it. Don't you think, Stingo, our landlady could accommodate the gentlemen by the fire-side, withthree chairs and a bolster?

Hust. I hate sleeping by the fire-side.

Mar. And I detest your three chairs and a bol

ster.

Tony. You do, do you?-then let me seewhat-if you go on a mile further to the Buck's Head; the old Buck's Head on the hill, one of the best inns in the whole country?

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

Land. [Apart to TONY.] Sure, you ben't send ing them to your father's as an inn, be you?

Tony. Mum, you fool you. Let them find that out. [To them.] You have only to keep on streight forward, till you come to a large old house by the road side. You'll see a pair of large horns over the door. That's the sign. Drive up the yard, and call stoutly about you.

Hast Sir, we are obliged to you. The servants cann't miss the way?

Tony. 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! he! he! He'll be for giving you his company; and ecod, if you mind him, he'll pre

suade you that his mother was an alderman and his aunt a justice of peace.

Land. A troublesome old blade to be sure; but a keeps as good wines and beds as any in the whole country.

Mar. Well, if he supplies us with these we shall want no further connection. We are to turn to the right, did you say?

Tony. No, no; streight forward. I'll just step myself, and shew you a piece of the way. [To the Landlord.] Mum.

Land. Ah, bless your heart, for a sweet, pleasant-damn'd mischievous son of a whore. [Exeunt.

ter.

Dig. 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—

Hard. 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.

Dig. By the laws, your honour, that's parfectly unpossible. Whenever Diggory sees yeating going forwards, ecod he's always wishing for a mouthful himself.

Hurd. Blockhead! is not a belly-full in the kitchen as good as a belly-full in the parlour? stay your stomach with that reflection.

Dig. Ecod I thank your worship; I'll make a

shift to stay my stomach with a slice of cold beef in the pantry.

Hard. Diggory, you are too talkative. Then, if I happen to say a good thing, or tell a good story, at table, you must not all burst out a-laughing, as if you made part of the company.

Dig. Then ecod your worship must not tell the story of Ould Grouse in the gun room: I cann't help laughing at that-he! he! he!-for We have laughed at that these the soul of me. twenty years-ha! ha! ha!

Hard. Ha! ha! ha! The story is a good one. Well, honest Diggory, you may laugh at that— but still remember to be attentive. Suppose one of the company should call for a glass of wine, how will you behave? A glass of wine, sir, if you please [To DIG.]-Eh, why don't you move!

Dig. Ecod, your worship, I never have courage till I see the eatables and drinkables brought upo' the table, and then I am as bauld as a lion. Hard. What, will nobody move?

1st Serv. I'm not to leave this pleace.
2d Serv. I'm sure it's no pleace of mine.
3d Serv. Nor mine, for sartain.

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

Hard. You numskulls! and so, while, like your betters, 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 welcome at the gate. [Exit HARDCASTLE. Dig. By the elevens, my place is quite gone out of my head.

Rog. I know that my place is to be every where.

1st Serv. Where the devil is mine?

2d Serv. My pleace is to be no where at all; and so Ize go about my business.

[Exeunt Servants, running about as if frighted, several ways,