my mother-But among females of another class you know

Hast. Ay, among them you are impudent enough, of all conscience.

Mar. They are of us, you know.

Hast. But in the company of women of reputation, never saw such an idiot, such a trembler; you look for all the world as if you wanted an opportunity of stealing out of the room.

Mar. Why, man, that's because I do want to steal out of the room. Faith, I have often formed a resolution to break the ice, and rattle away at any rate. But I don't know how, a single glance from a pair of fine eyes has totally overset my resolution. An impudent fellow may counterfeit modesty: but I'll be hanged if a modest man can ever counterfeit impudence.

Hast. If you could but say half the fine things to them, that I have heard you lavish upon the bar-maid of an inn, or even a college bed-maker

Mar. Why, George, I can't say fine things to them: they freeze, they petrify me. They may talk of a comet, or a burning mountain, or some such bagatelle, but to me, a modest woman, drest out in all her finery, is the most tremendous object of the whole creation.

Hast. Ha! ha! ha! At this rate, man, how can you ever expect to marry?

Mar. Never, unless as among kings and princes, my bride were to be courted by proxy. If, indeed, like an eastern bride-groom, one were to be introduced to a wife he never saw before, it might be endured. But to go through all the terrors of a formal courtship, together with the episode of aunts, grandmothers, and cousins;

and at last to blunt out the broad staring question of,

Madam, will you marry me? much above me, I assure you.

No, ro, that's a strain

Hast. I pity you. But how do you intend behaving to the lady you are come down to visit at the request of your father?

Mar. As I behave to all other ladies. Bow very lowanswer yes or no to all her demands-but for the rest, I don't think I shall venture to look in her face till I see my father's again.

Hast. I'm surprised that one who is so warm a friend can be so cool a lover.

Mar. To be explicit, my dear Hastings, my chief inducement down was to be instrumental in forwarding your happiness, not my own. Miss Neville loves you, the family don't know you, as my friend you are sure of a reception, and let honour do the rest.

Hast. My dear Marlow! But I'll suppress the emotion. Were I a wretch, meanly seeking to carry off a fortune, you should be the last man in the world I would apply to for assistance. But Miss Neville's person is all I ask; and that is mine, both from her deceased father's consent, and her own inclination.

Mar. Happy man! You have talents and art to captivate any woman. I'm doomed to adore the sex, and yet to converse with the only part of it I despise. This stammer in my address, and this awkward prepossessing visage of mine, can never permit me to soar above the reach of a milliner's 'prentice, or one of the duchesses of Drury-lane. Pshaw! this fellow here to interrupt us. Enter HARDCASTLE,

Hard. Gentlemen, once more you are heartily wel

come.

Which is Mr. Marlow? Sir, you are heartily welcome. It's not my way, you see, to receive my friends with my back to the fire. I like to give them a hearty reception in the old style at my gate. I like to see their horses and trunks taken care of.

Mar. [Aside.] He has got our names from the servants already. [To him.] We approve your caution and hospitality, sir. [To Hastings.] I have been thinking, George, of changing our travelling dresses in the morning. I am grown confoundedly ashamed of mine.

Hard. I beg, Mr. Marlow, you'll use no ceremony in

this house.

Hast. I fancy, George, you're right: the first blow is half the battle. I intend opening the campaign with the white and gold.

Hard. Mr. Marlow-Mr. Hastings-gentlemen-pray be under no restraint in this house. This is Liberty-hall, gentlemen. You may do just as you please here.

Mar. Yet, George, if we open the campaign too fiercely at first, we may want ammunition before it is over. I think to reserve the embroidery to secure a retreat.

Hard. Your talking of a retreat, Mr. Marlow, puts me in mind of the Duke of Marlborough, when we went to besiege Denain. He first summoned the garrison-Mar. Don't you think the ventre d'or waistcoat will do with the plain brown?

Hard. He first summoned the garrison, which might consist of about five thousand men

Hast. I think not: brown and yellow mix but very poorly

Hard. I say, gentlemen, as I was telling you, he summoned the garrison, which might consist of about five thousand men

Mar. The girls like finery.

Hard. Which might consist of about five thousand men, well appointed with stores, ammunition, and other Now, says the Duke of Marlborough

implements of war. to George Brooks, that stood next to him-you must have heard of George Brooks-I'll pawn my dukedom, says he, but I take that garrison without spilling a drop of blood.

So

Mar. What, my good friend, if you gave us a glass of punch in the mean time, it would help us to carry on the siege with vigour.

Hard. Punch, sir? [Aside.] This is the most unaccountable kind of modesty I ever met with.

Mar. Yes, sir, punch. A glass of warm punch after our journey will be comfortable. This is Liberty-hall, you know.

Hard. Here's a cup, sir.

Mar. [Aside.] So this fellow, in his Liberty-hall, will only let us have just what he pleases.

Hard. [Taking the cup.] I hope you'll find it to your mind. I have prepared it with my own hands, and I believe you'll own the ingredients are tolerable. Will you be so good as to pledge me, sir? Here, Mr. Marlow, here is to our better acquaintance. [Drinks. Mar. [Aside.] A very impudent fellow this! but he's a character, and I'll humour him a little. Sir, my service to you. Drinks.

Hast. [Aside.] I see this fellow wants to give us his company, and forgets that he's an inn-keeper, before he has learned to be a gentleman.

Mar. From the excellence of your cup, my old friend, I suppose you have a good deal of business in this part

of the country. Warm work now and then, at elections,

I suppose.

Hard. No, sir, I have long given that work over. Since our betters have hit upon the expedient of electing each other, there is no business "for us that sell ale."

Hast. So, then, you have no turn for politics, I find. Hard. Not in the least. There was a time, indeed, I fretted myself about the mistakes of government, like other people; but finding myself every day grow more angry, and the government growing no better, I left it to mend itself. Since that, I no more trouble my head about Hyder Alli, or Alli Khan, than about Ally Croaker. Sir, my service to you.

Hast. So, that with eating above stairs, and drinking below, with receiving your friends within, and amusing them without, you lead a good pleasant bustling life of it.

Hard. I do stir about a great deal, that's certain. Half the differences of the parish are adjusted in this very parlour.

Mar. [After drinking.] And you have an argument in your cup, old gentleman, better than any in Westminster-hall.

Hard. Ay, young gentleman, that, and a little philosophy.

Mar. [Aside.] Well, this is the first time I ever heard of an inn-keeper's philosophy.

Hast. So, then, like an experienced general, you attack them on every quarter. If you find their reason manageable, you attack it with your philosophy; if you find they have no reason, you attack them with this. Here's your health, my philosoper. {Drinks.

Hard. Good, very good, thank you; ha! ha!

Your