Mar. O! sir, you're facetious.

side

Tony. Then keeping to the right, you are to go ways till you come upon Crack-skull common: there you must look sharp for the track of the wheel, and go forward till you come to farmer Murrain's barn. Coming to the farmer's barn, you are to turn to the right, and then to the left, and then to the right about again, till you find out the old mill.

Mar. Zounds, man, we could as soon find out the longitude!

Hast. What's to be done, Marlow?

Mar. This house promises but a poor reception; though perhaps the landlord can accommodate us.

Land. Alack! master, we have but one spare bed in the whole house.

Tony. And to my knowledge that's taken up by three lodgers already. [After a pause, in which the rest seem disconcerted.] I have hit it! Don't you think, Stingo, our landlady could accommodate the gentlemen by the fire-side, with-three chairs and a bolster?

Hast. I hate sleeping by the fire-side.

Mar. And I detest your three chairs and a bolster. Tony. You do, do you!--then let me see--what-- if 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 ben't 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 straight 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 peace!

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

Mar. 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; straight forward. I'll just step myself, and show you a piece of the way. [To the Landlord.] Mum. Land. Ah! bless your heart for a sweet, pleasant— damned mischievous son of a whore!

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

Scene, an old-fashioned House.

Enter HARDCASTLE, followed by three or four awkward Servants.

Hard. WELL, I hope you are perfect in the table exercise I have been teaching you these three days. You all know your posts and your places, and can show that

you have been used to good company, without ever 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 show 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.

Dig. 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.

Dig. By the laws, your worship, that's perfectly unpossible. Whenever Diggory sees yeating going forward, 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.

Dig. 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 hap

pen 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.

Dig. 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.]-Eh! why don't you move?

Dig. 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 nobody move?

First Ser. I'm not to leave this place.

Second Ser. I'm sure it's no place of mine.

Third Ser. Nor mine, for sartain.

Dig. Wauns, and I'm sure it canna be mine.

Hard. You numskulls! and so, while, like your betters, you are quarrelling for places, the guests must be starved. 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 reception at the gate. [Exit Hardcastle.

Dig. By the elevens, my place is gone quite out of my head.

Roger. I know that my place is to be every where.
First Ser. Where the devil is mine?

Second Ser. My place 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, showing in MARLOW and HASTINGS.

Ser. 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 house-keeping, 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 sideboard, or a marble chimney-piece, though not actually put in the bill, inflame a reckoning 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 never 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 college or an inn, in seclusion from that lovely part of the creation that chiefly teach men confidence. I don't know that I was ever familiarly acquainted with a single modest woman-except