1 Enter HARDCASTLE, who stands in surprise. Hard. 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 ador'd at humble distance. Kate, Kate, art thou not asham'd to deceive your father so? Miss Hard. 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. Hard. 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 hawl you about like a milk maid? and now you talk of his respect and his modesty, forsooth! Miss Hard. 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. Hard. The girl would actually make one run mad; I tell you I'll not be convinced. I am convinced. He has scarcely 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 Hard. Sir, I ask but this night to convince you. Hard. You shall not have half the time, for I have thoughts of turning him out this very hour. Miss Hard. Give me that hour then, and I hope to satisfy you. Hard. 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 Hard. 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 IV. SCENE I. Enter HASTINGS aud Miss NEVILLE. Hastings. You surprise me! Sir Charles Marlow expected here this night? Where have you had your information? Miss Nev. You may depend upon it. I just saw nis letter to Mr. Hardcastle, in which he tells him he intends setting out a few hours after his son. Hast. 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 Nev. The jewels, I hope, are safe. Hast. 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 Nev. Well! success attend you. In the mean time, I'll go amuse my aunt with the old pretence of a violent passion for my cousin. Enter MARLOW, followed by a Servant. [Exit. Mar. 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? Serv. Yes, your honour. Mar. She said she'd keep it safe, did she? Serv. Yes, she said she'd keep it safe enough; she ask'd me how I came by it? and she said she had a great mind to make me give an account of myself. [Exit Servant. Mar. 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. Hast. Bless me! I quite forgot to tell her that Iin. G tended to prepare at the bottom of the garden. Marlow here, and in spirits too! Mar. Give me joy, George! Crown me, shadow me with laurels! Well, George, after all, we modest fellows don't want for success among the wo-* men. Hast. Some women you mean. But what success has your honour's modesty been crowned with now, that it grows so insolent upon us? Mar. Didn't you see the tempting, brisk, lovely, little thing that runs about the house with a bunch of keys to its girdle? Hast. Well! and what then! Mar. She's mine, you rogue you. Such fire, such motion, such eyes, such lips-but, egad! she would not let me kiss them though. Hast. But are you so sure, so very sure of her? Mar. Why man, she talk'd of shewing me her work above stairs, and I'm to improve the pattern. Hast. But how can you, Charles, go about to rob a woman of her honour? Mar. 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. Hast. I believe the girl has virtue. Mar. And if she has, I should be the last man in the world that would attempt to corrupt it. Hast. You have taken care, I hope, of the casket I sent you to lock up? It's in safety ? Mar. Yes, yès. 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, numbskull! I have taken better precautions for you than you did for yourself.—I have— Hast. What ! Mar. I have sent it to the landlady to keep for you. Hast. To the landlady! Hast. You did. Mar. I did. She's to be answerable for its forthcoming, you know. Hast. Yes, she'll bring it forth, with a witness. Mar. Wasn't I right? I believe you'll allow that I acted prudently upon this occasion? Hast. [Aside] He must not see my uneasiness. Mar. You seem a little disconcerted though, methinks. Sure nothing has happened! Hast. 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? Mar. Rather too readily. For she not only kept the casket; but, thro' her great precaution, was going to keep the messenger too. Ha ha ha! Hast. He he he! They're safe however. Mar. As a guinea in a miser's purse. Hast. [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 |
