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[Illustration: SPEED THE PLOUGH
ASHFIELD--DICKENS AND DAISES! WHAT A GENTLEMAN
YOU WOU'D BE TO SHEW AT A FAIR!
ACT I SCENE II
PAINTED BY SINGLETON PUBLISH'D BY LONGMAN & CO. ENGRAVED BY FITTLER
1806]
SPEED THE PLOUGH;
A COMEDY,
IN FIVE ACTS;
AS PERFORMED AT THE
THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN.
BY THOMAS MORTON, ESQ.
PRINTED UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF THE MANAGERS FROM THE PROMPT BOOK.
WITH REMARKS
BY MRS. INCHBALD.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORME,
PATERNOSTER ROW.
SAVAGE AND EASINGWOOD,
PRINTERS, LONDON.
REMARKS.
This comedy excites that sensation, which is the best security for the
success of a drama--curiosity. After the two first acts are over, and
pleasantly over, with the excellent drawn characters of Ashfield and his
wife, and the very just satire which arises from Sir Abel's propensity
to modern improvements--the acts that follow excite deep interest and
ardent expectation; both of which are so highly gratified at the
conclusion of the play, that, from the first night of its performance,
it has ranked among the best of the author's productions, and in the
first class of modern comedies.
The various characters of this play are admirably designed, but not so
happily finished as the author meant them to be--witness, Bob Handy, who
begins a self-conceited coxcomb, and ends a tragedy confidant.
But the good intentions of an author are acceptable: execution will not
always follow conception; and the last may often give as much
instruction, though not equal delight with the former: as an instance,
who does not see the folly of attempting to _do every thing_ in Handy,
though he is more the shadow, than the substance of a character.
Notwithstanding there are some parts, not so good as others, in this
comedy, there is no one character superior to the rest, nor any one in
particular, which makes a forcible impression on the memory:--this
proves, (in consequence of the acknowledged merit of the play) the fable
to be a good one, and that a pleasing combination has been studied and
effected by the author, with infinite skill, however incompetent to his
own brilliant imagination.
The plot, and serious characters of this comedy, are said to be taken
from a play of Kotzebue's, called, "The Duke of Burgundy,"--if they are,
Mr. Morton's ingenuity of adapting them to our stage has been equal to
the merit he would have had in conceiving them; for that very play
called, "The Duke of Burgundy," by some verbal translator,--was
condemned or withdrawn at Covent Garden Theatre, not very long before
"Speed the Plough" was received with the highest marks of admiration.
The characters of Sir Philip Blandford, his brother, and his nephew, may
have been imported from Germany, but surely, all the other personages of
the drama are of pure English growth.
The reception of this play, when first performed, and the high station
it still holds in the public opinion, should make criticism cautious of
attack--but as works of genuine art alone are held worthy of
investigation, and as all examinations tend to produce a degree of
censure, as well as of praise, "Speed the Plough" is not exempt from the
general lot of every favourite production.
An auditor will be much better pleased with this play, than a reader;
for though it is well written, and interspersed with many poetical
passages, an attentive peruser will find inconsistencies in the
arrangement of the plot and incidents, which an audience, absorbed in
expectation of final events, and hurried away by the charm of scenic
interest, cannot easily detect.
The most prominent of these blemishes are:--Miss Blandford falls in love
with a plough-boy at first-sight, which she certainly would not have
done, but that some preternatural agent whispered to her, he was a young
man of birth. But whether this magical information came from the
palpitation of her heart, or the quickness of her eye, she has not
said.--A reader will, however, gladly impute the cause of her sudden
passion to magic, rather than to the want of female refinement.
The daughter has not less decorum in love, than the father in
murder.--That a character, grave and stern, as Sir Philip Blandford is
described, should entrust any man, especially such a man as Bob Handy,
with a secret, on which, not only his reputation, but his life depended,
can upon no principle of reason be accounted for; unless the author took
into consideration, what has sometimes been observed,--that a murderer,
in contrivance to conceal his guilt, foolishly fixes on the very means,
which bring him to conviction.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
SIR PHILIP BLANDFORD _Mr. Pope._
MORRINGTON _Mr. Murray._
SIR ABEL HANDY _Mr. Munden._
BOB HANDY _Mr. Fawcett._
HENRY _Mr. H. Johnston._
FARMER ASHFIELD _Mr. Knight._
EVERGREEN _Mr. Davenport._
GERALD _Mr. Waddy._
POSTILLION _Mr. Abbot._
YOUNG HANDY'S SERVANT _Mr. Klanert._
PETER _Mr. Atkins._
MISS BLANDFORD _Mrs. H. Johnston._
LADY HANDY _Mrs. Dibdin._
SUSAN ASHFIELD _Miss Murray._
DAME ASHFIELD _Mrs. Davenport._
SPEED THE PLOUGH.
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I.
_In the fore ground a Farm House.--A view of a Castle at a distance._
FARMER ASHFIELD _discovered at a table, with his jug and pipe._
_Enter_ DAME ASHFIELD, _in a riding dress, and a basket under her arm._
_Ash._ Well, Dame, welcome whoam. What news does thee bring vrom market?
_Dame._ What news, husband? What I always told you; that Farmer Grundy's
wheat brought five shillings a quarter more than ours did.
_Ash._ All the better vor he.
_Dame._ Ah! the sun seems to shine on purpose for him.
_Ash._ Come, come, missus, as thee hast not the grace to thank God for
prosperous times, dan't thee grumble when they be unkindly a bit.
_Dame._ And I assure you, Dame Grundy's butter was quite the crack of
the market.
_Ash._ Be quiet, woolye? aleways ding, dinging Dame Grundy into my
ears--what will Mrs. Grundy zay? What will Mrs. Grundy think--Canst thee
be quiet, let ur alone, and behave thyzel pratty?
_Dame._--Certainly I can--I'll tell thee, Tummas, what she said at
church last Sunday.
_Ash._ Canst thee tell what parson zaid? Noa--Then I'll tell thee--A'
zaid that envy were as foul a weed as grows, and cankers all wholesome
plants that be near it--that's what a' zaid.
_Dame._ And do you think I envy Mrs. Grundy indeed?
_Ash._ Why dant thee letten her aloane then--I do verily think when thee
goest to t'other world, the vurst question thee ax 'il be, if Mrs.
Grundy's there--Zoa be quiet, and behave pratty, do'ye--Has thee brought
whoam the Salisbury news?
_Dame._ No, Tummas: but I have brought a rare wadget of news with me.
First and foremost I saw such a mort of coaches, servants, and waggons,
all belonging to Sir Abel Handy, and all coming to the castle--and a
handsome young man, dressed all in lace, pulled off his hat to me, and
said--"Mrs. Ashfield, do me the honour of presenting that letter to your
husband."--So there he stood without his hat--Oh, Tummas, had you seen
how Mrs. Grundy looked!
_Ash._ Dom Mrs. Grundy--be quiet, and let I read, woolye? [_Reads._] "My
dear farmer" [_Taking off his hat._] Thankye zur--zame to you, wi' all
my heart and soul--"My dear farmer"--
_Dame._ Farmer--Why, you are blind, Tummas, it is--"My dear father"--Tis
from our own dear Susan.
_Ash._ Odds dickens and daizeys! zoo it be, zure enow!--"My dear
feyther, you will be surprized"--Zoo I be, he, he! What pretty writing,
bean't it? all as straight as thof it were ploughed--"Surprized to hear,
that in a few hours I shall embrace you--Nelly, who was formerly our
servant, has fortunately married Sir Abel Handy Bart."--
_Dame._ Handy Bart.--Pugh! Bart. stands for Baronight, mun.
_Ash._ Likely, likely,--Drabbit it, only to think of the zwaps and
changes of this world!
_Dame._ Our Nelly married to a great Baronet! I wonder, Tummas, what
Mrs. Grundy will say?
_Ash._ Now, woolye be quiet, and let I read--"And she has proposed
bringing me to see you; an offer, I hope, as acceptable to my dear
feyther"--
_Dame._ "And mother"--
_Ash._ Bless her, how prettily she do write feyther, dan't she?
_Dame._ And mother.
_Ash._ Ees, but feyther first, though----"As acceptable to my dear
feyther and mother, as to their affectionate daughter--Susan
Ashfield."--Now bean't that a pratty letter?
_Dame._ And, Tummas, is not she a pretty girl?
_Ash._ Ees; and as good as she be pratty--Drabbit it, I do feel zoo
happy, and zoo warm,--for all the world like the zun in harvest.
_Dame._ Oh, Tummas, I shall be so pleased to see her, I shan't know
whether I stand on my head or my heels.
_Ash._ Stand on thy head! vor sheame o' thyzel--behave pratty, do.
_Dame._ Nay, I meant no harm--Eh, here comes friend Evergreen the
gardener, from the castle. Bless me, what a hurry the old man is in.
_Enter_ EVERGREEN.
_Everg._ Good day, honest Thomas.
_Ash._ Zame to you, measter Evergreen.
_Everg._ Have you heard the news?
_Dame._ Any thing about Mrs. Grundy?
_Ash._ Dame, be quiet, woolye now?
_Everg._ No, no--The news is, that my master, Sir Philip Blandford,
after having been abroad for twenty years, returns this day to the
castle; and that the reason of his coming is, to marry his only daughter
to the son of Sir Abel Handy, I think they call him.
_Dame._ As sure as two-pence, that is Nelly's husband.
_Everg._ Indeed!--Well, Sir Abel and his son will be here immediately;
and, Farmer, you must attend them.
_Ash._ Likely, likely.
_Everg._ And, mistress, come and lend us a hand at the castle, will
you?--Ah, it is twenty long years since I have seen Sir Philip--Poor
gentleman! bad, bad health--worn almost to the grave, I am told.---What
a lad do I remember him--till that dreadful--[_Checking himself._] But
where is Henry? I must see him--must caution him--[_A gun is discharged
at a distance._] That's his gun, I suppose--he is not far then--Poor
Henry!
_Dame._ Poor Henry! I like that indeed! What though he be nobody knows
who, there is not a girl in the parish that is not ready to pull caps
for him--The Miss Grundys, genteel as they think themselves, would be
glad to snap at him--If he were our own, we could not love him better.
_Everg._ And he deserves to be loved--Why, he's as handsome as a peach
tree in blossom; and his mind is as free from weeds as my favourite
carnation bed. But, Thomas, run to the castle, and receive Sir Abel and
his son.
_Ash._ I wool, I wool--Zo, good day. [_Bowing._] Let every man make his
bow, and behave pratty--that's what I say.--Missus, do'ye show un Sue's
letter, woolye? Do ye letten see how pratty she do write feyther.
[_Exit._
_Dame._ Now Tummas is gone, I'll tell you such a story about Mrs.
Grundy--But come, step in, you must needs be weary; and I am sure a mug
of harvest beer, sweetened with a hearty welcome, will refresh you.
[_Exeunt into the house._
SCENE II.
_Outside and gate of the Castle--Servants cross the stage, laden with
different packages._
_Enter_ ASHFIELD.
_Ash._ Drabbit it, the wold castle 'ul be hardly big enow to hold all
thic lumber.
_Sir Abel Handy._ [_Without._] Gently there! mind how you go, Robin.
[_A crash._
_Ash._ Who do come here? A do zeem a comical zoart ov a man--Oh, Abel
Handy, I suppoze.
_Enter_ SIR ABEL HANDY.--SERVANT _following._
_Sir Abel._ Zounds and fury! you have killed the whole county, you dog!
for you have broke the patent medicine chest, that was to keep them all
alive!--Richard, gently!--take care of the grand Archimedian
corkscrews!--Bless my soul! so much to think of! Such wonderful
inventions in conception, in concoction, and in completion!
_Enter_ PETER.
Well, Peter, is the carriage much broke?
_Peter._ Smashed all to pieces. I thought as how, sir, that your
infallible axletree would give way.
_Sir Abel._ Confound it, it has compelled me to walk so far in the wet,
that I declare my water-proof shoes are completely soaked through.
[_Exit_ PETER.] Now to take a view with my new invented glass!
[_Pulls out his glass._
_Ash._ [_Loud and bluntly._] Zarvent, zur! Zarvent!
_Sir Abel._ [_Starting._] What's that? Oh, good day.--Devil take the
fellow? [_Aside._
_Ash._ Thankye, zur; zame to you with all my heart and zoul.
_Sir Abel._ Pray, friend, could you contrive _gently_ to inform me,
where I can find one Farmer Ashfield.
_Ash._ Ha, ha, ha! [_Laughing loudly._] Excuse my tittering a bit--but
your axing mysel vor I be so domm'd zilly [_Bowing and laughing._]--Ah!
you stare at I beceas I be bashful and daunted.
_Sir Abel._ You are very bashful, to be sure. I declare I'm quite weary.
_Ash._ If you'll walk into the castle, you may zit down, I dare zay.
_Sir Abel._ May I indeed? you are a fellow of extraordinary civility.
_Ash._ There's no denying it, zur.
_Sir Abel._ No, I'll sit here.
_Ash._ What! on the ground! Why you'll wring your ould withers--
_Sir Abel._ On the ground--no, I always carry my seat with me [_Spreads
a small camp chair._]--Here I'll sit and examine the surveyor's account
of the castle.
_Ash._ Dickens and daizeys! what a gentleman you wou'd be to shew at a
vair!
_Sir Abel._ Silence fellow, and attend--"An account of the castle and
domain of Sir Philip Blandford, intended to be settled as a marriage
portion on his daughter, and the son of Sir Abel Handy,--by Frank
Flourish, surveyor.--Imprimis--The premises command an exquisite view of
the Isle of Wight."--Charming! delightful! I don't see it though
[_Rising._]--I'll try with my new glass--my own invention--[_He looks
through the glass._] Yes, there I caught it--Ah! now I see it
plainly--Eh! no--I don't see it, do you?
_Ash._ Noa, zur, I doant--but little zweepy do tell I he can zee a bit
out from the top of the chimbley--zoa, an you've a mind to crawl up you
may zee un too, he, he!
_Sir Abel._ Thank you--but damn your titter. [_Reads._]--"Fish ponds
well stocked"--That's a good thing, Farmer.
_Ash._ Likely, likely--but I doant think the vishes do thrive much in
theas ponds.
_Sir Abel._ No! why?
_Ash._ Why, the ponds be always dry i'the zummer; and I be tould that
bean't wholesome vor the little vishes.
_Sir Abel._ Not very, I believe--Well said surveyor! "A cool summer
house."
_Ash._ Ees, zur, quite cool--by reason the roof be tumbled in.
_Sir Abel._ Better and better--"the whole capable of the greatest
improvement."--Come, that seems true however--I shall have plenty to do,
that's one comfort--I have such contrivances! I'll have a canal run
through my kitchen.--I must give this rustic some idea of my
consequence. [_Aside._] You must know, Farmer, you have the honour of
conversing with a man, who has obtained patents for tweezers,
tooth-picks, and tinder boxes--to a philosopher, who has been consulted
on the Wapping docks and the Gravesend tunnel; and who has now in hand
two inventions which will render him immortal--the one is, converting
saw dust into deal boards, and the other is, a plan of cleaning rooms by
a steam engine--and, Farmer, I mean to give prizes for industry--I'll
have a ploughing match.
_Ash._ Will you, zur?
_Sir Abel._ Yes; for I consider a healthy young man, between the handles
of a plough, as one of the noblest illustrations of the prosperity of
Britain.
_Ash._ Faith and troth! there be some tightish hands in theas parts, I
promize ye.
_Sir Abel._ And, Farmer, it shall precede the hymeneal festivities--
_Ash._ Nan!
_Sir Abel._ Blockhead! The ploughing match shall take place as soon as
Sir Philip Blandford and his daughter arrive.
_Ash._ Oh, likely, likely.
_Enter_ SERVANT.
_Serv._ Sir Abel, I beg to say, my master will be here immediately.
_Sir Abel._ And, sir, I beg to ask who possesses the happiness of being
your master?
_Serv._ Your son, sir, Mr. Robert Handy.
_Sir Abel._ Indeed! and where is Bob?
_Serv._ I left him, sir, in the belfrey of the church.
_Sir Abel._ Where?
_Serv._ In the belfrey of the church.
_Sir Abel._ In the belfrey of the church! What was he doing there?
_Serv._ Why, Sir, the _natives_ were ringing a peal in honour of our
arrival--when my master finding they knew nothing of the matter, went up
to the steeple to instruct them, and ordered me to proceed to the
Castle--Give me leave, Sir Abel, to take this out of your way. [_Takes
the camp chair._] Sir, I have the honour-- [_Bows and Exit._
_Sir Abel._ Wonderful! My Bob, you must know, is an astonishing
fellow!--you have heard of the _admirable Crichton_, may be? Bob's of
the same kidney! I contrive, he executes--Sir Abel _invenit_, Bob
_fecit_. He can do everything--everything!
_Ash._ All the better vor he. I zay, zur, as he can turn his head to
everything, pray, in what way med he earn his livelihood?
_Sir Abel._ Earn his livelihood!
_Ash._ Ees, zur;--How do he gain his bread!
_Sir Abel._ Bread! Oh, he can't earn his bread, bless you! he's a
genius.
_Ash._ Genius! Drabbit it, I have got a horze o' thic name, but dom' un,
he'll never work--never.
_Sir Abel._ Egad; here comes my boy Bob!--Eh! no--it is not! no.
_Enter_ POSTBOY, _with a round hat and cane._
Why, who the devil are you?
_Postb._ I am the postboy, your honour, but the gem'man said I did not
know how to drive, so he mounted my horse, and made me get inside--Here
he is.
_Enter_ HANDY, jun. _with a postboy's cap and whip._
_Handy, jun._ Ah, my old Dad, is that you?
_Sir Abel._ Certainly! the only doubt is, if that be you?
_Handy, jun._ Oh, I was teaching this fellow to drive--Nothing is so
horrible as people pretending to do what they are unequal to--Give me my
hat--That's the way to use a whip.
_Postb._ Sir, you know you have broke the horses' knees all to pieces.
_Handy, jun._ Hush, there's a guinea. [_Apart._
_Sir Abel._ [_To_ ASHFIELD.] You see, Bob can do everything. But, sir,
when you knew I had arrived from Germany, why did you not pay your duty
to me in London?
_Handy, jun._ Sir, I heard you were but four days married, and I would
not interrupt your honeymoon.
_Sir Abel._ Four days! oh, you might have come. [_Sighing._
_Handy, jun._ I hear you have taken to your arms a simple rustic,
unsophisticated by fashionable follies--a full blown blossom of nature.
_Sir Abel._ Yes!
_Handy, jun._ How does it answer?
_Sir Abel._ So, so!
_Handy, jun._ Any thorns?
_Sir Abel._ A few.
_Handy, jun._ I must be introduced--where is she?
_Sir Abel._ Not within thirty miles; for I don't hear her.
_Ash._ Ha, ha, ha!
_Handy, jun._ Who is that?
_Sir Abel._ Oh, a pretty behaved tittering friend of mine.
_Ash._ Zarvent, zur--No offence, I do hope--Could not help tittering a
bit at Nelly--when she were zarvent maid wi' I, she had a tightish
prattle wi' her, that's vor zartain.
_Handy, jun._ Oh! so then my honoured mamma was the servant of this
tittering gentleman--I say, father, perhaps she has not lost the
tightish prattle he speaks of.
_Sir Abel._ My dear boy, come here--Prattle! I say did you ever live
next door to a pewterer's?--that's all--you understand me--did you ever
hear a dozen fire-engines full gallop?--were you ever at Billingsgate in
the sprat season?--or----
_Handy, jun._ Ha, ha!
_Sir Abel._ Nay, don't laugh, Bob.
_Handy, jun._ Indeed, sir, you think of it too seriously. The storm, I
dare say, soon blows over.
_Sir Abel._ Soon! you know what a trade wind is, don't you, Bob? why,
she thinks no more of the latter end of her speech, than she does of the
latter end of her life--
_Handy, jun._ Ha! ha!
_Sir Abel._ But I won't be laugh'd at--I'll knock any man down that
laughs! Bob, if you can say any thing pleasant, I'll trouble you; if
not, do what my wife can't--hold your tongue.
_Handy, jun._ I'll shew you what I can do--I'll amuse you with this
native. [_Apart._
_Sir Abel._ Do--do--quiz him--at him, Bob.
_Handy, jun._ I say, Farmer, you are a set of jolly fellows here, an't
you?
_Ash._ Ees, zur, deadly jolly--excepting when we be otherwise, and then
we bean't.
_Handy, jun._ Play at cricket, don't you?
_Ash._ Ees, zur; we Hampshire lads conceat we can bowl a bit or
thereabouts.
_Handy, jun._ And cudgel too, I suppose?
_Sir Abel._ At him, Bob.
_Ash._ Ees, zur, we sometimes break oon another's heads, by way of being
agreeable, and the like o'that.
_Handy, jun._ Understand all the guards? [_Putting himself in an
attitude of cudgelling._]
_Ash._ Can't zay I do, zur.
_Handy, jun._ What! hit in this way, eh? [_Makes a hit at_ ASHFIELD,
_which he parries, and hits young_ HANDY _violently._]
_Ash._ Noa, zur, we do hit thic way.
_Handy, jun._ Zounds and fury!
_Sir Abel._ Why, Bob, he has broke your head.
_Handy, jun._ Yes; he rather hit me--he somehow----
_Sir Abel._ He did indeed, Bob.
_Handy, jun._ Damn him--The fact is, I am out of practice.
_Ash._ You need not be, zur; I'll gi' ye a belly full any day, wi' all
my heart and soul.
_Handy, jun._ No, no, thank you--Farmer, what's your name?
_Ash._ My name be Tummas Ashfield--any thing to say against my name?
[_Threatening._
_Handy, jun._ No, no--Ashfield! shou'd he be the father of my pretty
Susan--Pray have you a daughter?
_Ash._ Ees, I have--any thing to zay against she?
_Handy, jun._ No, no; I think her a charming creature.
_Ash._ Do ye, faith and troth--Come, that be deadly kind o'ye
however--Do you zee, I were _frightful_ she were not agreeable.
_Handy, jun._ Oh, she's extremely agreeable to me, I assure you.
_Ash._ I vow, it be quite pratty in you to take notice of Sue. I do
hope, zur, breaking your head will break noa squares--She be a coming
down to theas parts wi' lady our maid Nelly, as wur--your spouse, zur.
_Handy, jun._ The devil she is! that's awkward!
_Ash._ I do hope you'll be kind to Sue when she do come, woolye, zur?
_Handy, jun._ You may depend on it.
_Sir Abel._ I dare say you may. Come, Farmer, attend us.
_Ash._ Ees, zur; wi' all respect--Gentlemen, pray walk thic way, and
I'll walk before you. [_Exit._
_Sir Abel._ Now, that's what he calls behaving pretty. Damn his pretty
behaviour. [_Exeunt._
SCENE III.
_A Grove._
[MORRINGTON _comes down the stage, wrapped in a great coat--He looks
about--then at his watch, and whistles--which is answered._]
_Enter_ GERALD.
_Mor._ Here, Gerald! Well, my trusty fellow, is Sir Philip arrived?
_Ger._ No, sir; but hourly expected.
_Mor._ Tell me, how does the castle look?
_Ger._ Sadly decayed, sir.
_Mor._ I hope, Gerald, you were not observed.
_Ger._ I fear otherwise, sir; on the skirts of the domain I encountered
a stripling with his gun; but I darted into that thicket, and so avoided
him.
[HENRY _appears in the back ground, in a shooting dress, attentively
observing them._]
_Mor._ Have you gained any intelligence?
_Ger._ None: the report that reached us was false--The infant certainly
died with its mother--Hush! conceal yourself--we are observed--this way.
[_They retreat_--HENRY _advances._
_Henry._ Hold! as a friend, one word!
[_They exeunt, he follows them, and returns._
Again they have escaped me--"_The infant died with its mother_"--This
agony of doubt is insupportable.
_Enter_ EVERGREEN.
_Everg._ Henry, well met.
_Henry._ Have you seen strangers?
_Everg._ No!
_Henry._ Two but now have left this place--They spoke of a lost
child--My busy fancy led me to think I was the object of their search--I
pressed forward, but they avoided me.
_Everg._ No, no; it could not be you; for no one on earth knows but
myself, and----
_Henry._ Who? Sir Philip Blandford?
_Everg._ I am sworn, you know, my dear boy; I am solemnly sworn to
silence.
_Henry._ True, my good old friend; and if the knowledge of who I am can
only be obtained at the price of thy perjury, let me for ever remain
ignorant--let the corroding thought still haunt my pillow, cross me at
every turn, and render me insensible to the blessings of health and
liberty--yet, in vain do I suppress the thought--who am I? why thus
abandoned? perhaps the despised offspring of guilt--Ah! is it so?
[_Seizing him violently._
_Everg._ Henry, do I deserve this?
_Henry._ Pardon me, good old man! I'll act more reasonably--I'll deem
thy silence mercy.
_Everg._ That's wisely said.
_Henry._ Yet it is hard to think, that the most detested reptile that
nature forms, or man pursues, has, when he gains his den, a parent's
pitying breast to shelter in; but I----
_Everg._ Come, come, no more of this.
_Henry._ Well!----I visited to-day that young man who was so grievously
bruised by the breaking of his team.
_Everg._ That was kindly done, Henry.
_Henry._ I found him suffering under extreme torture, yet a ray of joy
shot from his languid eye--for his medicine was administered by a
father's hand--it was a mother's precious tear that dropped upon his
wound--Oh, how I envied him!
_Everg._ Still on the same subject--I tell thee, if thou art not
acknowledged by thy race, why, then become the noble founder of a new
one.--Come with me to the castle, for the last time.
_Henry._ The last time!
_Everg._ Aye, boy; for, when Sir Philip arrives, you must avoid him.
_Henry._ Not see him! where exists the power that shall prevent me?
_Everg._ Henry, if you value your own peace of mind--if you value an old
man's comfort, avoid the castle.
_Henry._ [_Aside._] I must dissemble with this honest creature--Well, I
am content.
_Everg._ That's right--that's right,--Henry--Be but thou resigned and
virtuous, and He, who clothes the lily of the field, will be a parent to
thee. [_Exeunt._
ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I.
_A Lodge belonging to the Castle._
_Dame Ashfield discovered making lace._
_Enter_ HANDY, _jun._
_Handy, jun._ A singular situation this my old dad has placed me in;
brought me here to marry a woman of fashion and beauty, while I have
been professing, and I've a notion feeling, the most ardent love for the
pretty Susan Ashfield--Propriety says, take Miss Blandford--Love says,
take Susan--Fashion says, take both--but would Susan consent to such an
arrangement?--and if she refused, would I consent to part with her?--Oh,
time enough to put that question, when the previous one is disposed
of--[_Seeing_ DAME.] How do you do? How do you do?--Making lace, I
perceive--Is it a common employment, here?
_Dame._ Oh, no, sir? nobody can make it in these parts but myself!--Mrs.
Grundy, indeed, pretends--but, poor woman! she knows no more of it than
you do.
_Handy, jun._ Than I do! that's vastly well;--My dear madam, I passed
two months at Mechlin for the express purpose.
_Dame._ Indeed!
_Handy, jun._ You don't do it right--now I can do it much better than
that. Give me leave, and I'll shew you the true Mechlin method [_Turns
the cushion round, kneels down, and begins working._] First you see,
so--then, so--
_Enter_ SIR ABEL, _and_ MISS BLANDFORD.
_Sir Abel._ I vow, Miss Blandford, fair as I ever thought you, the air
of your native land has given additional lustre to your
charms!--[_Aside._] If my wife looked so--Ah! but where can Bob be?--You
must know, miss, my son is a very clever fellow! you won't find him
wasting his time in boyish frivolity!--no; you will find him--
[_Sees him._
_Miss B._ Is that your son, sir?
_Sir Abel._ [_Abashed._] Yes, that's Bob!
_Miss B._ Pray, sir, is he making lace, or is he making love?
_Sir Abel._ Curse me if I can tell. [_Hits him with his stick._] Get up,
you dog! don't you see Miss Blandford?
_Handy, jun._ [_Starting up._] Zounds! how unlucky! Ma'am, your most
obedient servant. [_Endeavours to hide the work._] Curse the cushion!
[_Throws it off._
_Dame._ Oh! he has spoiled my lace!
_Handy, jun._ Hush! I'll make you a thousand yards another time--You
see, ma'am, I was explaining to this good woman--what--what need not be
explained again--Admirably handsome, by Heaven! [_Aside._
_Sir Abel._ Is not she, Bob?
_Handy, jun._ [_To_ MISS B.] In your journey from the coast, I conclude
you took London in your way? Hush! [_To_ DAME.
_Miss B._ Oh no, sir, I could not so soon venture into the _beau monde_;
a stranger just arrived from Germany--
_Handy, jun._ The very reason--the most fashionable introduction
possible! but I perceive, sir, you have here imitated other German
importations, and only restored to us our native excellence.
_Miss B._ I assure you, sir, I am eager to seize my birthright, the pure
and envied immunities of an English woman!
_Handy, jun._ Then I trust, madam, you will be patriot enough to agree
with me, that as a nation is poor, whose only wealth is
importation--that therefore the humble native artist may ever hope to
obtain from his countrymen those fostering smiles, without which genius
must sicken and industry decay. But it requires no _valet de place_ to
conduct you through the purlieus of fashion, for now the way of the
world is, for every one to pursue their own way; and following the
fashion is differing as much as possible from the rest of your
acquaintance.
_Miss B._ But, surely sir, there is some distinguishing feature, by
which the votaries of fashion are known?
_Handy, jun._ Yes; but that varies extremely--sometimes fashionable
celebrity depends on a high waist--sometimes on a low
carriage--sometimes on high play, and sometimes on low breeding--last
winter it rested solely on green peas!
_Miss B._ Green peas!
_Handy, jun._ Green peas--That lady was the most enchanting, who could
bring the greatest quantity of green peas to her table at Christmas! the
struggle was tremendous! Mrs. Rowley Powley had the best of it by five
pecks and a half, but it having been unfortunately proved, that at her
ball there was room to dance and eat conveniently--that no lady received
a black eye, and no coachman was killed, the thing was voted decent and
comfortable, and scouted accordingly.
_Miss B._ Is comfort then incompatible with fashion?
_Handy, jun._ Certainly!--Comfort in high life would be as preposterous
as a lawyer's bag crammed with truth, or his wig decorated with
coquelicot ribbons! No--it is not comfort and selection that is sought,
but numbers and confusion! So that a fashionable party resembles
Smithfield market,--only a good one when plentifully stocked--and ladies
are reckoned by the score, like sheep, and their husbands by droves,
like horned cattle!
_Miss B._ Ha, ha! and the conversation--
_Handy, jun._ Oh! like the assembly--confused, vapid, and abundant; as
"How do, ma'am!--no accident at the door?--he, he!"--"Only my carriage
broke to pieces!"--"I hope you had not your pocket picked!"--"Won't you
sit down to faro?"--"Have you many to-night?"--"A few, about six
hundred!"--"Were you at Lady Overall's?"--"Oh yes; a delicious crowd,
and plenty of peas, he, he!"--and thus runs the fashionable race.
_Sir Abel._ Yes; and a precious run it is--full gallop all the way:
first they run on--then their fortune is run through--then bills are run
up--then they are run hard--then they've a run of luck--then they run
out, and then they run away!--But I'll forgive fashion all its follies
in consideration of one of its blessed laws.
_Handy, jun._ What may that be!
_Sir Abel._ That husband and wife must never be seen together.
_Enter_ SERVANT.
_Serv._ Miss Blandford, your father expects you.
_Miss B._ I hope I shall find him more composed.
_Handy, jun._ Is Sir Philip ill?
_Miss B._ His spirits are extremely depressed, and since we arrived here
this morning his dejection has dreadfully increased.
_Handy, jun._ But I hope we shall be able to laugh away despondency.
_Miss B._ Sir, if you are pleased to consider my esteem as an object
worth your possession, I know no way of obtaining it so certain as by
your shewing every attention to my dear father. [_As they are going,_
_Enter_ ASHFIELD.
_Ash._ Dame! Dame! she be come!
_Dame._ Who? Susan! our dear Susan?
_Ash._ Ees--zo--come along--Oh, Sir Abel! Lady Nelly, your spouse, do
order you to go to her directly!
_Handy, jun._ Order! you mistake--
_Sir Abel._ No, he don't--she generally prefers that word.
_Miss B._ Adieu! Sir Abel.
[_Exeunt_ MISS BLANDFORD _and_ HANDY, _jun._
_Sir Abel._ Oh! if my wife had such a pretty way with her mouth.
_Dame._ And how does Susan look?
_Ash._ That's what I do want to know, zoa come along--Woo ye
though--Missus, let's behave pratty--Zur if you pleaze, Dame and I will
let you walk along wi' us.
_Sir Abel._ How condescending! Oh, you are a pretty behaved fellow!
[_Exeunt._