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go, our landlady could accommodate the gentlemen by the fireside, with three chairs and a bolster ?

Hast. I hate sleeping by the fireside.
Mar. And I detest your three chairs and a bolster.

Tony. You do, do you then let me see-whatif 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 be’nt sending 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 can'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 persuade you that his mother was an alderman, and his aunt a justice of 1 peace.

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

Man. Well, if he supplies us with these, we shall want no further connexion. , 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, pleasantdamn'd mischievous, son of a whore. [Exeunt.

ACT II. SCENE I.

An old fashioned House. Enter HARDCASTLE, followed

by three or four awkward Servants.

Hardcastle. Well, I hope you're perfect in the table exercise I have been teaching you these three days. You all know your posts and your places, and can shew that you have been used to good company, without stirring from home.

Omnes. Ay, ay.

Hard. When company comes, you are not to pop out and stare, and then run in again, like frighted rabbits in a warren.

Omnes. No, no..

Hard. You, Diggory, whom I have taken from the barn, are to make a shew at the side table; and you, Roger, whom I have advanced from the plough, are to place yourself, behind my chair, But you're not to

stand so, with your hands in your pockets. Take your hands from your pockets, Roger; and from your head, you blockhead you. See how Diggory carries his hands. They're a little too stiff, indeed, but that's no great matter. '

Digg. 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.

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

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

Digg. 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.

Digg. Then ecod your worship must not tell the story of Ould Grouse in the gun room : I can't help laughing at that-he! he! he!--for the soul of me.

We have laughed at that these 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 Diggory)-Éh, why don't you move ?

Digg. Ecod, your worship, I never have courage till I see the eatables and drinkables brought upo' the table, and then I'm as bauld as a lion. Hard. What, will no body move ? 1st Sery. I'm not to leave this place. 2d Sery. I'm sure its no pleace of mine. 3d Serv. Nor mine, for sartain. Digg. Wauns, and I'm sure it canna be mine.

Hard. You numskulls! and so while, like your bet. ters, you are quarrelling for places, the guests must be stary'd. 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. Digg. By the elevens, my place is gone quite out of my head.

Roger. 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,

different ways.

Enter Servant with Candles, shewing in MARLOW and

HASTINGS. Serv. Welcome, gentlemen, very welcome. This way.

Hast. After the disappointments of the day, welcome once more, Charles, to the comforts of a clean room and a good fire. Upon my word, a very well looking house ; antique, but creditable.

Mar. The usual fate of a large mansion. Having first ruined the master by good housekeeping, it at last comes to levy contributions as an inn.

Hast. As you say, we passengers are to be taxed to pay all these fineries. I have often seen a good side. board, or a marble chimney-piece, tho' not actually put in the bill, enflame the bill confoundedly.

Mar. Travellers, George, must pay in all places. The only difference is, that in good inns, you pay dearly for luxuries; in bad inns, you are fleeced and starved.

Hast. You have lived pretty much among them. In truth, I have been often surprised, that you who have seen so much of the world, with your natural good sense, and your many opportunities, could ne. ver yet acquire a requisite share of assurance.

Mar. The Englishman's malady. But tell me, George, where could I have learned that assurance you talk of? My life has been chiefly spent in a col. lege, or an inn, in seclusion from that lovely part of the creation that chiefly teach men confidence. I

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