HARDCASTLE. Your father approves the match, I admire it; every
moment’s delay will be doing mischief. So--
MARLOW. 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.
HARDCASTLE. (Aside.) This fellow’s formal modest impudence is beyond
bearing.
SIR CHARLES. And you never grasped her hand, or made any
protestations?
MARLOW. As Heaven is my witness, I came down in obedience to your
commands. 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. [Exit.]
SIR CHARLES. I’m astonished at the air of sincerity with which he
parted.
HARDCASTLE. And I’m astonished at the deliberate intrepidity of his
assurance.
SIR CHARLES. I dare pledge my life and honour upon his truth.
HARDCASTLE. Here comes my daughter, and I would stake my happiness
upon her veracity.
Enter MISS HARDCASTLE.
HARDCASTLE. Kate, come hither, child. Answer us sincerely and
without reserve: has Mr. Marlow made you any professions of love and
affection?
MISS HARDCASTLE. The question is very abrupt, sir. But since you
require unreserved sincerity, I think he has.
HARDCASTLE. (To SIR CHARLES.) You see.
SIR CHARLES. And pray, madam, have you and my son had more than one
interview?
MISS HARDCASTLE. Yes, sir, several.
HARDCASTLE. (To SIR CHARLES.) You see.
SIR CHARLES. But did be profess any attachment?
MISS HARDCASTLE. A lasting one.
SIR CHARLES. Did he talk of love?
MISS HARDCASTLE. Much, sir.
SIR CHARLES. Amazing! And all this formally?
MISS HARDCASTLE. Formally.
HARDCASTLE. Now, my friend, I hope you are satisfied.
SIR CHARLES. And how did he behave, madam?
MISS HARDCASTLE. As most profest admirers do: said some civil things
of my face, talked much of his want of merit, and the greatness of
mine; mentioned his heart, gave a short tragedy speech, and ended with
pretended rapture.
SIR CHARLES. 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,
he never sat for the picture.
MISS HARDCASTLE. 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
place yourselves behind that screen, you shall hear him declare his
passion to me in person.
SIR CHARLES. Agreed. And if I find him what you describe, all my
happiness in him must have an end. [Exit.]
MISS HARDCASTLE. And if you don’t find him what I describe--I fear my
happiness must never have a beginning. [Exeunt.]
SCENE changes to the back of the Garden.
Enter HASTINGS.
HASTINGS. What an idiot am I, to wait here for a fellow who probably
takes a delight in mortifying me. He never intended to be punctual,
and I’ll wait no longer. What do I see? It is he! and perhaps with
news of my Constance.
Enter Tony, booted and spattered.
HASTINGS. My honest ’squire! I now find you a man of your word.
This looks like friendship.
TONY. 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 has shook me worse than the basket of a stage-coach.
HASTINGS. But how? where did you leave your fellow-travellers? Are
they in safety? Are they housed?
TONY. 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 forty miles after a fox than ten with such varment.
HASTINGS. Well, but where have you left the ladies? I die with
impatience.
TONY. Left them! Why where should I leave them but where I found
them?
HASTINGS. This is a riddle.
TONY. Riddle me this then. What’s that goes round the house, and
round the house, and never touches the house?
HASTINGS. I’m still astray.
TONY. Why, that’s it, mon. I have led them astray. By jingo,
there’s not a pond or a slough within five miles of the place but they
can tell the taste of.
HASTINGS. Ha! ha! ha! I understand: you took them in a round, while
they supposed themselves going forward, and so you have at last brought
them home again.
TONY. 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.
HASTINGS. But no accident, I hope?
TONY. No, no. Only mother is confoundedly frightened. She thinks
herself forty 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.
HASTINGS. My dear friend, how can I be grateful?
TONY. Ay, now it’s dear friend, noble ’squire. Just now, it was all
idiot, cub, and run me through the guts. Damn YOUR way of fighting, I
say. After we take a knock in this part of the country, we kiss and be
friends. But if you had run me through the guts, then I should be
dead, and you might go kiss the hangman.
HASTINGS. The rebuke is just. But I must hasten to relieve Miss
Neville: if you keep the old lady employed, I promise to take care of
the young one. [Exit HASTINGS.]
TONY. Never fear me. Here she comes. Vanish. She’s got from the
pond, and draggled up to the waist like a mermaid.
Enter MRS. HARDCASTLE.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. 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.
TONY. Alack, mamma, it was all your own fault. You would be for
running away by night, without knowing one inch of the way.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. I wish we were at home again. I never met so many
accidents in so short a journey. Drenched in the 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?
TONY. By my guess we should come upon Crackskull Common, about forty
miles from home.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. O lud! O lud! The most notorious spot in all the
country. We only want a robbery to make a complete night on’t.
TONY. Don’t be afraid, mamma, don’t be afraid. Two of the five that
kept here are hanged, and the other three may not find us. Don’t be
afraid.--Is that a man that’s galloping behind us? No; it’s only a
tree.--Don’t be afraid.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. The fright will certainly kill me.
TONY. Do you see anything like a black hat moving behind the thicket?
MRS. HARDCASTLE. Oh, death!
TONY. No; it’s only a cow. Don’t be afraid, mamma; don’t be afraid.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. As I’m alive, Tony, I see a man coming towards us.
Ah! I’m sure on’t. If he perceives us, we are undone.
TONY. (Aside.) Father-in-law, by all that’s unlucky, come to take one
of his night walks. (To her.) Ah, it’s a highwayman with pistols as
long as my arm. A damned ill-looking fellow.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. Good Heaven defend us! He approaches.
TONY. 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 keep close. (MRS. HARDCASTLE hides behind a tree in the
back scene.)
Enter HARDCASTLE.
HARDCASTLE. I’m mistaken, or I heard voices of people in want of
help. Oh, Tony! is that you? I did not expect you so soon back. Are
your mother and her charge in safety?
TONY. Very safe, sir, at my aunt Pedigree’s. Hem.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. (From behind.) Ah, death! I find there’s danger.
HARDCASTLE. Forty miles in three hours; sure that’s too much, my
youngster.
TONY. Stout horses and willing minds make short journeys, as they say.
Hem.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. (From behind.) Sure he’ll do the dear boy no harm.
HARDCASTLE. But I heard a voice here; I should be glad to know from
whence it came.
TONY. It was I, sir, talking to myself, sir. I was saying that forty
miles in four hours was very good going. Hem. As to be sure it was.
Hem. I have got a sort of cold by being out in the air. We’ll go in,
if you please. Hem.
HARDCASTLE. But if you talked to yourself you did not answer
yourself. I’m certain I heard two voices, and am resolved (raising his
voice) to find the other out.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. (From behind.) Oh! he’s coming to find me out. Oh!
TONY. What need you go, sir, if I tell you? Hem. I’ll lay down my
life for the truth--hem--I’ll tell you all, sir. [Detaining him.]
HARDCASTLE. I tell you I will not be detained. I insist on seeing.
It’s in vain to expect I’ll believe you.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. (Running forward from behind.) O lud! he’ll murder
my poor boy, my darling! Here, good gentleman, whet your rage upon me.
Take my money, my life, but spare that young gentleman; spare my child,
if you have any mercy.
HARDCASTLE. My wife, as I’m a Christian. From whence can she come? or
what does she mean?
MRS. HARDCASTLE. (Kneeling.) Take compassion on us, good Mr.
Highwayman. Take our money, our watches, all we have, but spare our
lives. We will never bring you to justice; indeed we won’t, good Mr.
Highwayman.
HARDCASTLE. I believe the woman’s out of her senses. What, Dorothy,
don’t you know ME?
MRS. HARDCASTLE. 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?
HARDCASTLE. Sure, Dorothy, you have not lost your wits? So far from
home, when you are within forty yards of your own door! (To him.)
This is one of your old tricks, you graceless rogue, you. (To her.)
Don’t you know the gate, and the mulberry-tree; and don’t you remember
the horse-pond, my dear?
MRS. HARDCASTLE. Yes, I shall remember the horse-pond as long as I
live; I have caught my death in it. (To TONY.) And it is to you, you
graceless varlet, I owe all this? I’ll teach you to abuse your mother,
I will.
TONY. Ecod, mother, all the parish says you have spoiled me, and so
you may take the fruits on’t.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. I’ll spoil you, I will. [Follows him off the stage.
Exit.]