SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER:

O R,

THE MISTAKES OF A NIGHT.

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE, a Chamber in an old-fashioned House.

Enter Mrs. HARDCASTLE and Mr. HARDCASTLE.

Mrs. HARDCASTLE.

I vow, Mr. Hardcaftle, you're very particular.

Is there a creature in the whole country, but ourfelves, that does not take a trip to town now and then, to rub off the ruft a little? There's the two Mifs Hoggs, and our neighbour, Mrs. Grigsby, go to take a month's polishing every winter.

HARDCASTLE.

Aye, and bring back vanity and affectation to laft them the whole year. I wonder why London cannot keep its own fools at home! In my time, the

follies of the town crept flowly among us, but now they travel fafter than a ftage-coach. Its fopperies come down, not only as infide passengers, but in the very basket.

Mrs. HARDCASTLE.

Aye, your times were fine times, indeed; you have been telling us of them for many a long year. Here we live in an old rumbling manfion, that looks for all the world like an inn, but that we never fee company. Our beft vifitors are old Mrs. Oddfish, the curate's wife, and little Cripplegate, the lame dancing-master: and all our entertainment your old ftories of prince Eugene and the duke of Marlborough. I hate fuch old-fashioned trumpery.

HARDCASTLE.

And I love it. I love every thing that's old: old friends, old times, old manners, old books, old wine; and, I believe, Dorothy, (taking her hand) you'll own I have been pretty fond of an old wife.

Mrs. HARDCASTLE.

Lord, Mr. Hardcaftle, you're for ever at your Dorothy's and your old wife's. You may be a Darby, but I'll be no Joan, I promife you. I'm not fo old as you'd make me, by more than one good year. Add twenty to twenty, and make money of

that.

HARDCASTLE.

Let me fee; twenty added to twenty, makes just fifty and feven.

Mrs.

Mrs. HARDCASTLE.

It's falfe, Mr. Hardcaftle: I was but twenty when I was brought to bed of Tony, that I had by Mr. Lumpkin, my first husband; and he's not come to years of discretion yet.

HARDCASTLE.

Nor ever will, I dare answer for him. Aye, you have taught him finely.

Mrs. HARDCASTLE.

No matter, Tony Lumpkin has a good fortune. My fon is not to live by his learning. I don't think a boy wants much learning to spend fifteen hundred

Learning, quotha! A mere compofition of tricks and mischief.

Mrs. HARDCASTLE.

Humour, my dear: nothing but humour. Come, Mr. Hardcastle, you must allow the boy a little hu

mour.

HARDCASTLE.

I'd fooner allow him an horfe-pond. If burning the footmens fhoes, frighting the maids, and worrying the kittens, be humour, he has it. It was but yesterday he fastened my wig to the back of my chair, and when I went to make a bow, I popt my bald head in Mrs. Frizzle's face.

Mrs. HARDCASTLE.

And am I to blame? The poor boy was always too fickly to do any good. A fchool would be his

death.

death. When he comes to be a little ftronger, who knows what a year or two's Latin may do for him?

HARDCASTLE.

Latin for him! A cat and fiddle. No, no, the alehouse and the ftable are the only fchools he'll ever go to.

Mrs. HARDCASTLE.

Well, we muft not fnub the poor boy now, for I believe we shan't have him long among us. Any body that looks in his face may fee he's confumptive.

HARDCASTLE.

Aye, if growing too fat be one of the symptoms.

Mrs. HARDCASTLE.

He coughs fometimes.

HARDCASTLE.

Yes, when his liquor goes the wrong way.
Mrs. HARDCASTLE.

I'm actually afraid of his lungs.

HARDCASTLE.

And truly fo am I; for he fometimes whoops like a fpeaking trumpet- (Tony ballooing behind the Jeenes)-O there he goes-A very confumptive figure, truly.

Enter TONY, croffing the Stage.

Mrs. HARDCASTLE.

Tony, where are you going, my charmer? Won't you give papa and I a little of your company, lovee?

TONY.