MRS. HARDCASTLE. (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 my own eyes.
MISS NEVILLE. 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. HARDCASTLE. 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 NEVILLE. 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 —
MRS. HARDCASTLE. 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. HARDCASTLE. 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 NEVILLE. Ay, people are generally calm at the misfortunes of others.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. 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 NEVILLE. I detest garnets.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. 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 NEVILLE. 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 NEVILLE. My dear cousin!
TONY. Vanish. She’s here, and has missed them already. [Exit MISS NEVILLE.] Zounds! how she fidgets and spits about like a Catherine wheel.
Enter MRS. HARDCASTLE.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. 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. HARDCASTLE. We are robbed. My bureau has been broken open, the jewels taken out, and I’m undone.
TONY. Oh! is that all? Ha! ha! ha! By the laws, I never saw it acted better in my life. Ecod, I thought you was ruined in earnest, ha! ha! ha!
MRS. HARDCASTLE. Why, boy, I AM ruined in earnest. My bureau has been broken 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. HARDCASTLE. 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’m to say so.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. 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. HARDCASTLE. 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. HARDCASTLE. 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. HARDCASTLE. 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. HARDCASTLE. 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 HARDCASTLE. 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 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.
MISS HARDCASTLE. 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 HARDCASTLE. And are you sure he does not remember my face or person?
MAID. Certain of it.
MISS HARDCASTLE. 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 HARDCASTLE. 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 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?
MISS HARDCASTLE. 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.
MARLOW. 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 curtsey down to the ground. I have at last got a moment to myself, and now for recollection. [Walks and muses.]
MISS HARDCASTLE. Did you call, sir? Did your honour call?
MARLOW. (Musing.) As for Miss Hardcastle, she’s too grave and sentimental for me.
MISS HARDCASTLE. Did your honour call? (She still places herself before him, he turning away.)
MARLOW. No, child. (Musing.) Besides, from the glimpse I had of her, I think she squints.
MISS HARDCASTLE. I’m sure, sir, I heard the bell ring.
MARLOW. 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 HARDCASTLE. Perhaps the other gentleman called, sir?
MARLOW. I tell you, no.
MISS HARDCASTLE. I should be glad to know, sir. We have such a parcel of servants!
MARLOW. No, no, I 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 HARDCASTLE. O la, sir, you’ll make one ashamed.
MARLOW. 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 HARDCASTLE. No, sir, we have been out of that these ten days.
MARLOW. 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.
MISS HARDCASTLE. Nectar! nectar! That’s a
liquor there’s no call for in these parts. French, I suppose. We sell no French wines here, sir.
MARLOW. Of true English growth, I assure you.
MISS HARDCASTLE. 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.
MARLOW. Eighteen years! Why, one would think, child, you kept the bar before you were born. How old are you?
MISS HARDCASTLE. O! sir, I must not tell my age. They say women and music should never be dated.
MARLOW. 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 HARDCASTLE. Pray, sir, keep your distance. One would think you wanted to know one’s age, as they do horses, by mark of mouth.
MARLOW. 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?
MISS HARDCASTLE. 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 talked, for all the world, as if you was before a justice of peace.
MARLOW. (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 HARDCASTLE. O! then, sir, you are a favourite, I find, among the ladies?
MARLOW. 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.)
MISS HARDCASTLE. Hold, sir; you are introducing me to your club, not to yourself. And you’re so great a favourite there, you say?
MARLOW. Yes, my dear. There’s Mrs. Mantrap, Lady Betty Blackleg, the Countess of Sligo, Mrs. Langhorns, old Miss Biddy Buckskin, and your humble servant, keep up the spirit of the place.
MISS HARDCASTLE. Then it’s a very merry place, I suppose?
MARLOW. Yes, as merry as cards, supper, wine, and old women can make us.
MISS HARDCASTLE. And their agreeable Rattle, ha! ha! ha!
MARLOW. (Aside.) Egad! I don’t quite like this chit. She looks knowing, methinks. You laugh, child?
MISS HARDCASTLE. I can’t but laugh, to think what time they all have for minding their work or their family.
MARLOW. (Aside.) All’s well; she don’t laugh at me. (To her.) Do you ever work, child?
MISS HARDCASTLE. Ay, sure. There’s not a screen or quilt in the whole house but what can bear witness to that.
MARLOW. 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 HARDCASTLE. Ay, but the colours do not look well by candlelight. You shall see all in the morning. (Struggling.)
MARLOW. 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.
HARDCASTLE. 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 HARDCASTLE. 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.
HARDCASTLE. 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!
MISS HARDCASTLE. 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.
HARDCASTLE. 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.
MISS HARDCASTLE. Sir, I ask but this night to convince you.
HARDCASTLE. You shall not have half the time, for I have thoughts of turning him out this very hour.
MISS HARDCASTLE. Give me that hour then, and I hope to satisfy you.
HARDCASTLE. 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 HARDCASTLE. 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.]
ACT THE FOURTH.
Enter HASTINGS and MISS NEVILLE.
HASTINGS. You surprise me; Sir Charles Marlow expected here this night! Where have you had your information?
MISS NEVILLE. You may depend upon it. I just saw his letter to Mr. Hardcastle, in which he tells him he intends setting out a few hours after his son.
HASTINGS. Then, my Constance, all must be completed before he arrives. He knows me; and should he find me here, would discover my name, and perhaps my designs, to the rest of the family.
MISS NEVILLE. The jewels, I hope, are safe?
HASTINGS. 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 the ‘squire’s promise of a fresh pair of horses; and if I should not see him again, will write him further directions. [Exit.]
MISS NEVILLE. 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. [Exit.]
Enter MARLOW, followed by a Servant.
MARLOW. 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?
SERVANT. Yes, your honour.
MARLOW. She said she’d keep it safe, did she?
SERVANT. 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. [Exit Servant.]
MARLOW. Ha! ha! ha! They’re safe, however. What an unaccountable set of beings have we got amongst! This little bar-maid though runs in my head 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.
Enter HASTINGS.
HASTINGS. 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!
MARLOW. 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.
HASTINGS. Some women, you mean. But what success has your honour’s modesty been crowned with now, that it grows so insolent upon us?
MARLOW. Didn’t you see the tempting, brisk, lovely little thing, that runs about the house with a bunch of keys to its girdle?
HASTINGS. Well, and what then?
MARLOW. She’s mine, you rogue you. Such fire, such motion, such eyes, such lips; but, egad! she would not let me kiss them though.
HASTINGS. But are you so sure, so very sure of her?
MARLOW. Why, man, she talked of showing me her work above stairs, and I am to improve the pattern.
HASTINGS. But how can you, Charles,
go about to rob a woman of her honour?
MARLOW. Pshaw! pshaw! We all know the honour 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.
HASTINGS. I believe the girl has virtue.
MARLOW. And if she has, I should be the last man in the world that would attempt to corrupt it.
HASTINGS. You have taken care, I hope, of the casket I sent you to lock up? Is it in safety?
MARLOW. 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 ——
HASTINGS. What?
MARLOW. I have sent it to the landlady to keep for you.
HASTINGS. To the landlady!
MARLOW. The landlady.
HASTINGS. You did?
MARLOW. I did. She’s to be answerable for its forthcoming, you know.
HASTINGS. Yes, she’ll bring it forth with a witness.
MARLOW. Wasn’t I right? I believe you’ll allow that I acted prudently upon this occasion.
HASTINGS. (Aside.) He must not see my uneasiness.
MARLOW. You seem a little disconcerted though, methinks. Sure nothing has happened?
HASTINGS. No, nothing. Never was in better spirits in all my life. And so you left it with the landlady, who, no doubt, very readily undertook the charge.
MARLOW. Rather too readily. For she not only kept the casket, but, through her great precaution, was going to keep the messenger too. Ha! ha! ha!
HASTINGS. He! he! he! They’re safe, however.
MARLOW. As a guinea in a miser’s purse.
HASTINGS. (Aside.) So now all hopes of fortune are at an end, and we must set off without it. (To him.) Well, Charles, I’ll leave you to your meditations on the pretty bar-maid, and, he! he! he! may you be as successful for yourself, as you have been for me! [Exit.]
MARLOW. Thank ye, George: I ask no more. Ha! ha! ha!
Enter HARDCASTLE.
HARDCASTLE. 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. (To him.) Mr. Marlow, your servant. I’m your very humble servant. (Bowing low.)
Masters of the Theatre Page 77