_Enter_ HARDCASTLE, _solus_.
HARD. 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. He has taken
possession of the easy chair by the fireside already. He took off his
boots in the parlour, and desired me to see them taken care of. I'm
desirous to know how his impudence affects my daughter.—She will
certainly be shocked at it.
_Enter_ MISS HARDCASTLE, _plainly dressed_.
HARD. Well, my Kate, I see you have changed your dress, as I bid you;
and yet, I believe, there was no great occasion.
MISS HARD. I find such a pleasure, sir, in obeying your commands, that
I take care to obey them without ever debating their propriety.
HARD. And yet, Kate, I sometimes give you some cause, particularly when
I recommended my _modest_ gentleman to you as a lover to-day.
MISS HARD. You taught me to expect something extraordinary, and I find
the original exceeds the description.
HARD. I was never so surprised in my life! He has quite confounded all
my faculties!
MISS HARD. I never saw anything like it: and a man of the world too!
HARD. Ay, he learned it all abroad,—what a fool was I, to think a young
man could learn modesty by travelling! He might as soon learn wit at a
masquerade.
MISS HARD. It seems all natural to him.
HARD. A good deal assisted by bad company, and a French dancing-master.
MISS HARD. Sure you mistake, papa! A French dancing-master could never
have taught him that timid look,—that awkward address,—that bashful
manner—
HARD. Whose look? whose manner, child?
MISS HARD. Mr. Marlow's: his mauvaise honte, his timidity struck me at
the first sight.
HARD. Then your first sight deceived you; for I think him one of the
most brazen first-sights that ever astonished my senses.
MISS HARD. Sure, sir, you rally! I never saw any one so modest.
HARD. And can you be serious! I never saw such a bouncing, swaggering
puppy, since I was born. Bully Dawson was but a fool to him.
[Illustration:
MISS HARDCASTLE.—"_Yes. But upon conditions._"—_p._ 350.
]
MISS HARD. Surprising! he met me with a respectful bow, a stammering
voice, and a look fixed on the ground.
HARD. He met me with a loud voice, a lordly air, and a familiarity that
made my blood freeze again.
MISS HARD. 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; then left the room with a
bow, and, "Madam, I would not for the world detain you."
HARD. He spoke to me, as if he knew me all his life before; asked
twenty 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!
MISS HARD. One of us must certainly be mistaken.
HARD. If he be what he has shown himself, I'm determined he shall never
have my consent.
MISS HARD. And if he be the sullen thing I take him, he shall never
have mine.
HARD. In one thing then we are agreed—to reject him.
MISS HARD. 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—I don't know—the fellow is good enough for a
man—Certainly we don't meet many such at a horse-race in the country.
HARD. If we should find him so—but that's impossible. The first
appearance has done my business. I'm seldom deceived in that.
MISS HARD. And yet there may be many good qualities under that first
appearance.
HARD. 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.
MISS HARD. I hope, sir, a conversation begun with a compliment to my
good sense, won't end with a sneer at my understanding.
HARD. Pardon me, Kate. But if young Mr. Brazen can find the art of
reconciling contradictions, he may please us both, perhaps.
MISS HARD. And as one of us must be mistaken, what if we go to make
further discoveries?
HARD. But depend on't I'm in the right.
MISS HARD. And depend on't I'm not much in the wrong.
_Exeunt._
_Enter_ TONY _running in with a casket_.
TONY. Ecod! I have got them. Here they are. My cousin Con's necklaces,
bobs, and all. My mother shan't cheat the poor souls out of their
fortin neither. O! my genius, is that you?
_Enter_ HASTINGS.
HAST. 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. Our horses will be refreshed in a
short time, and we shall soon be ready to set off.
TONY. And here's something to bear your charges by the way. (_Giving
the casket._) Your sweetheart's jewels. Keep them; and hang those, I
say, that would rob you of one of them.
HAST. But how have you procured them from your mother?
TONY. 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 so often as I do? An honest man
may rob of himself his own at any time.
HAST. Thousands do it every day. But to be plain with you; Miss Neville
is endeavouring to procure them from her aunt this very instant. If she
succeeds, it will be the most delicate way at least of obtaining them.
TONY. Well, keep them, till you know how it will be. I know how it will
be well enough; she'd as soon part with the only sound tooth in her
head.
HAST. But I dread the effects of her resentment, when she finds she has
lost them.
TONY. 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.
_Exit_ HASTINGS.
TONY, MRS. HARDCASTLE, MISS NEVILLE.
MRS. HARD. Indeed, Constance, you amaze me. Such a girl as you want
jewels! It will be time enough for jewels, my dear, twenty years hence;
when your beauty begins to want repairs.
MISS NEV. But what will repair beauty at forty, will certainly improve
it at twenty, madam.
MRS. HARD. 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-day-light, and Mr. Crump, and the rest of them, carry their jewels
to town, and bring nothing but paste and marcasites back?
MISS NEV. But who knows, madam, but somebody that shall be nameless
would like me best with all my little finery about me?
MRS. HARD. 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 jewels, in your eyes to set off her
beauty?
TONY. That's as thereafter may be.
MISS NEV. My dear aunt, if you knew how it would oblige me.
MRS. HARD. 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.
TONY. (_Apart to_ MRS. HARDCASTLE.) 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.
MRS. HARD. (_Apart to_ TONY.) 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?
He! he! he!
TONY. Never fear me. Ecod! I'll say I saw them taken out with mine own
eyes.
MISS NEV. I desire them but for a day, madam. Just to be permitted to
show them as relics, and then they may be locked up again.
MRS. HARD. 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.
MISS NEV. I'll not believe it; this is but a shallow pretence to deny
me. I know they're too valuable to be so slightly kept, and as you are
to answer for the loss.
MRS. HARD. Don't be alarmed, Constance; if they be lost, I must restore
an equivalent. But my son knows they are missing, and not to be found.
TONY. That I can bear witness to. They are missing, and not to be
found, I'll take my oath on't.
MRS. HARD. 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.
MISS NEV. Ay, people are generally calm at the misfortunes of others.
MRS. HARD. 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 my garnets, till your jewels be found.
MISS NEV. I detest garnets.
MRS. HARD. 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.
_Exit._
MISS NEV. I dislike them of all things. You shan't stir.—Was ever
anything so provoking? to mislay my own jewels, and force me to wear
her trumpery.
TONY. 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_.
MISS NEV. My dear cousin!
TONY. Vanish. She's here, and has missed them already. Zounds! how she
fidgets, and spits about like a Catherine-wheel!
_Enter_ MRS. HARDCASTLE.
MRS. HARD. Confusion! thieves! robbers! We are cheated, plundered,
broke open, undone.
TONY. What's the matter, what's the matter, mamma? I hope nothing has
happened to any of the good family!
MRS. HARD. We are robbed. My bureau has been broke open, the jewels
taken out, and I'm undone.
TONY. Oh! is that all? Ha! ha! ha! By the laws, I never saw it better
acted in my life. Ecod, I thought you was ruined in earnest; ha, ha,
ha!
MRS. HARD. Why, boy, I _am_ ruined in earnest. My bureau has been broke
open, and all taken away.
TONY. Stick to that; ha, ha, ha! stick to that; I'll bear witness, you
know; call me to bear witness.
MRS. HARD. I tell you, Tony, by all that's precious, the jewels are
gone, and I shall be ruined for ever.
TONY. Sure, I know they're gone, and I am to say so.
MRS. HARD. My dearest Tony, but hear me. They're gone, I say.
TONY. By the laws, mamma, you make me for to laugh; ha! ha! I know who
took them well enough, ha! ha! ha!
MRS. HARD. 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.
TONY. 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.
MRS. HARD. 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?
TONY. I can bear witness to that.
MRS. HARD. 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 if you enjoyed my distress?
TONY. I can bear witness to that.
MRS. HARD. Do you insult me, monster? I'll teach you to vex your
mother, I will.
TONY. I can bear witness to that.
_He runs off, she follows him._
_Enter_ MISS HARDCASTLE _and_ MAID.
MISS HARD. What an unaccountable creature is that brother of mine, to
send them to the house as an inn, ha! ha! I don't wonder at his
impudence.
MAID. But what is more, madam, the young gentlemen, as you passed by in
your present dress, asked me if you were the bar-maid? He mistook you
for the bar-maid, madam.
MISS HARD. Did he? Then, as I live, I'm resolved to keep up the
delusion. Tell me, Pimple, how do you like my present dress? Don't you
think I look something like Cherry in the Beaux' Stratagem?
MAID. It's the dress, madam, that every lady wears in the country, but
when she visits or receives company.
MISS HARD. And are you sure he does not remember my face or person?
MAID. Certain of it.
MISS HARD. I vow, I thought so; for though we spoke for some time
together, yet his fears were such, that he never once looked up during
the interview. Indeed, if he had, my bonnet would have kept him from
seeing me.
MAID. But what do you hope from keeping him in his mistake?
MISS HARD. In the first place I shall be _seen_, and that is no small
advantage to a girl who brings her face to market. Then I shall,
perhaps, make an acquaintance, and that's no small victory gained over
one, who never addresses any but the wildest of her sex. But my chief
aim is to take my gentleman off his guard, and, like an invisible
champion of romance, examine the giant's force before I offer to
combat.
MAID. But are you sure you can act your part, and disguise your voice,
so that he may mistake that, as he has already mistaken your person?
MISS HARD. Never fear me. I think I have got the true bar-cant—Did your
honour call?—Attend the Lion there.—Pipes and tobacco for the
Angel.—The Lamb has been outrageous this half-hour.
MAID. It will do, madam. But he's here.
_Exit_ MAID.
_Enter_ MARLOW.
MARL. What a bawling in every part of the house! I have scarce a
moment's repose. If I go to the best room, there I find my host and his
story. If I fly to the gallery, there we have my hostess, with her
curtesy down to the ground. I have at last got a moment to myself, and
now for recollection.
_Walks and muses._
MISS HARD. Did you call, sir? Did your honour call?
MARL. (_Musing_). As for Miss Hardcastle, she's too grave and
sentimental for me.
MISS HARD. Did your honour call?
_She still places herself before him, he turning away._
MARL. No, child. (_Musing._) Besides, from the glimpse I had of her, I
think she squints.
MISS HARD. I'm sure, sir, I heard the bell ring.
MARL. No, no. (_Musing._) I have pleased my father, however, by coming
down, and I'll to-morrow please myself by returning.
_Taking out his tablets, and perusing._
MISS HARD. Perhaps the other gentleman called, sir.
MARL. I tell you, no.
MISS HARD. I should be glad to know, sir. We have such a parcel of
servants.
MARL. No, no, I'll tell you. (_Looks full in her face._) Yes, child, I
think I did call. I wanted—I wanted—I vow, child, you are vastly
handsome.
MISS HARD. O la, sir, you'll make one ashamed.
MARL. Never saw a more sprightly malicious eye. Yes, yes, my dear, I
did call. Have you got any of your—a—what d'ye call it, in the house?
MISS HARD. No, sir, we have been out of that these ten days.
MARL. One may call in this house, I find, to very little purpose.
Suppose I should call for a taste, just by way of trial, of the nectar
of your lips; perhaps I might be disappointed in that too.
MISS HARD. Nectar! nectar! that's a liquor there's no call for in these
parts. French, I suppose. We keep no French wines here, sir.
MARL. Of true English growth, I assure you.
MISS HARD. Then it's odd I should not know it. We brew all sorts of
wines in this house, and I have lived here these eighteen years.
MARL. Eighteen years? Why, one would think, child, you kept the bar
before you were born. How old are you?
MISS HARD. O! sir, I must not tell my age. They say women and music
should never be dated.
MARL. To guess at this distance, you can't be much above forty.
(_Approaching._) Yet, nearer, I don't think so much. (_Approaching._)
By coming close to some women they look younger still; but when we come
very close indeed——
_Attempting to kiss her._
MISS HARD. Pray, sir, keep your distance. One would think you wanted to
know one's age as they do horses, by mark of mouth.
MARL. I protest, child, you use me extremely ill. If you keep me at
this distance, how is it possible you and I can be ever acquainted?
MISS HARD. And who wants to be acquainted with you? I want no such
acquaintance, not I. I'm sure you did not treat Miss Hardcastle, that
was here a while ago, in this obstropalous manner. I'll warrant me,
before her you looked dashed, and kept bowing to the ground, and
talked, for all the world, as if you was before a justice of peace.
MARL. (_Aside._) Egad! she has hit it, sure enough. (_To her._) In awe
of her, child? Ha! ha! ha! A mere awkward, squinting thing; no, no. I
find you don't know me. I laughed, and rallied her a little; but I was
unwilling to be too severe. No, I could not be too severe, _curse me_!
MISS HARD. O! then, sir, you are a favourite, I find, among the ladies.
MARL. Yes, my dear, a great favourite. And yet, hang me, I don't see
what they find in me to follow. At the ladies' club in town, I'm called
their agreeable Rattle. Rattle, child, is not my real name, but one I'm
known by. My name is Solomons. Mr. Solomons, my dear, at your service.
_Offering to salute her._
[Illustration:
MARLOW.—"_And why not now, my angel?_"—_p._ 356.
]
MISS HARD. Hold, sir; you were introducing me to your club, not to
yourself. And you're so great a favourite there, you say?
MARL. Yes, my dear; there's Mrs. Mantrap, lady Betty Blackleg, the
countess of Sligo, Mrs. Longhorns, old Miss Biddy Buckskin, and your
humble servant, keep up the spirit of the place.
MISS HARD. Then it's a very merry place, I suppose.
MARL. Yes; as merry as cards, suppers, wine, and old women, can make
us.
MISS HARD. And their agreeable Rattle; ha! ha! ha!
MARL. (_Aside._) Egad! I don't quite like this chit. She looks knowing,
methinks. You laugh, child!
MISS HARD. I can't but laugh to think what time they all have for
minding their work or their family.
MARL. (_Aside._) All's well, she don't laugh at me. (_To her._ ) Do
_you_ ever work, child?
MISS HARD. Ay, sure. There's not a screen or a quilt in the whole house
but what can bear witness to that.
MARL. Odso! Then you must show me your embroidery. I embroider and draw
patterns myself a little. If you want a judge of your work, you must
apply to me.
_Seizing her hand._
MISS HARD. Ay, but the colours don't look well by candle-light. You
shall see all in the morning.
_Struggling._
MARL. And why not now, my angel? Such beauty fires beyond the power of
resistance.—Pshaw! the father here! My old luck: I never nicked seven,
that I did not throw ames-ace three times following.
_Exit_ MARLOW.
_Enter_ HARDCASTLE, _who stands in surprise_.
HARD. So, madam! So I find _this_ is your _modest_ lover. This is your
humble admirer, that kept his eyes, fixed on the ground, and only
adored at humble distance. Kate, Kate, art thou not ashamed to deceive
your father so?
MISS HARD. Never trust me, dear papa, but he's still the modest man I
first took him for, you'll be convinced of it as well as I.
HARD. By the hand of my body, I believe his impudence is infectious!
Didn't I see him seize your hand? Didn't I see him haul you about like
a milk-maid? and now you talk of his respect and his modesty, forsooth!
MISS HARD. But if I shortly convince you of his modesty; that he has
only the faults that will pass off with time, and the virtues that will
improve with age; I hope you'll forgive him.
HARD. The girl would actually make one run mad; I tell you, I will not
be convinced. I am convinced. He has scarcely been three hours in the
house, and he has already encroached on all my prerogatives. You may
like his impudence, and call it modesty; but my son-in-law, madam, must
have very different qualifications.
MISS HARD. Sir, I ask but this night to convince you.
HARD. You shall not have half the time; for I have thoughts of turning
him out this very hour.
MISS HARD. Give me that hour, then, and I hope to satisfy you.
HARD. Well, an hour let it be then. But I'll have no trifling with your
father. All fair and open, do you mind me?
MISS HARD. I hope, sir, you have ever found that I considered your
commands as my pride; for your kindness is such, that my duty as yet
has been inclination.
_Exeunt._