Of 
 
SHE STOOPS 
 TO CONQUER 
 
 AND / 
 
 THE GOOD-NATURED 
 
 MAN 
 
 BY 
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH 
 
 With an Introduction by 
 HENRY MORLEY 
 
 CASSELL AND COMPANY, LIMITED 
 LONDON, PARIS, NEW YORK 
 AND MELBOURNE. MCMVI 
 All Rights Reserved 
 

 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 GOLDSMITH'S comedy of the Good-natured Man was 
 first acted in January, 1768 ; his other comedy, She 
 Stoops to Conquer, in March, 1773. Goldsmith died 
 on the 4th of April, 1774, at the age of forty-six, his 
 first play having been produced at the age of forty. 
 
 The character of Croaker in the Good-natured Man 
 was suggested by the character of Suspirius in No. 59 
 of Johnson's Rambler. Garrick, who had let the 
 Good-natured Man pass out of his hands, produced a 
 play of < falseDe2iQacy, by Hugh Kelly, on the 23rd 
 of January, 1768, himself writing for it the Prologue 
 and Epilogue. This new play was in its sixth night, 
 and drawing full houses at Drury Lane, when George 
 Colman, who had just become one of the joint patentees, 
 produced Goldsmith's comedy, on Friday, the 29th of 
 January, at Co vent Garden. On the first night the 
 success of the play was doubtful, until the reading of 
 the incendiary letter by the actor who represented Mr. 
 Croaker, which roused the house to an enthusiasm of 
 enjoyment, after which all went merrily. Goldsmith's 
 play was repeated eleven times, Kelly's more than 
 
6 INTRODUCTION^ 
 
 twenty times during the season. False Delicacy is 
 now forgotten, and the Good-natured Man stands firm 
 with She Stoops to Conquer among the best comedies 
 in English literature. Goldsmith's first comedy did, 
 however, produce him the five hundred pounds with 
 which he bought and furnished chambers in the Middle 
 Temple. 
 
 The production at Covent Garden of She Stoops to 
 Conquer, on the 15th of March, 1773, was under con- 
 ditions still more trying to the author. George Colman, 
 the manager, who had yielded slowly to the compulsion 
 of Goldsmith's friends, did not believe in the play, and 
 infected the actors with his own distrust. One or two 
 of them threw up their parts. It was first called The 
 Mistakes of a Night, but Johnson, Reynolds, Gold- 
 smith himself, and others, were not satisfied with the 
 title. Sir Joshua Reynolds wished to call it The 
 Belle's Stratagem, but all were content when Goldsmith 
 himself hit upon the title it now bears. There was an 
 artificial dread in those days of incidents that could be 
 dubbed "low." The Good-natured Man had been cried 
 out against for the scene in which Honeywood dresses 
 the bailiffs as his gentlemen friends. Their low 
 humour, in deference to the critics, had to be omitted. 
 Fielding and Goldsmith had both ridiculed this false 
 delicacy. " Stoops, indeed ! " said Horace Walpole of 
 She Stoops to Conquer; "so she does! that is, the 
 Muse ; she is draggled up to the knees, and has trudged 
 
INTRODUCTION. 7 
 
 I believe, from Southwark Fair." But Horace Wai- 
 pole, present at tlie first night, had to report next 
 morning " a prodigious success." The day of artificial 
 dignity was drawing to its close. 
 
 The story of She Stoops to Conquer is said to have 
 been suggested to Goldsmith by a youthful blunder of 
 his own, in believing the direction given by Mr. 
 Cornelius Kelly, the wag of the place, when he had 
 asked for direction to the " best house " in Ardagh. The 
 " best house," which he took for an inn, belonged, it is 
 said, to a Squire Featherstone, who, as he happened 
 to know Goldsmith's father, humoured the joke. 
 
 When Goldsmith entered the theatre on the first 
 night of She Stoops to Conquer, his ear caught a 
 solitary hiss, and he expressed alarm. " Psha, doctor ! " 
 said Colman, " don't be afraid of a 'solitary squib when 
 we have been sitting these two hours on a barrel of 
 gunpowder ! " But after the great success of the play, 
 Colman had to ask Goldsmith for defence against wits, 
 wise after the event, who laughed at the melancholy 
 doubts which they had been quite ready to share. In- \ 
 deed, Goldsmith's healthy good-humour came into suc- 
 cessful battle with a social compact of stupidity that 
 was accepted, as usual, even by the good wits of the 
 polite world when they failed to shake themselves 
 loose from current forms of prejudice. Thus, for 
 example, Horace Walpole criticised She Stoogs to 
 
8 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Conquer : " Dr. Goldsmith has written a comedy no, 
 it is the lowest of all farces; it is not the subject I 
 condemn, though ve:.y vulgar, but the execution. The 
 drift tends to no moral no edification of any kind ; 
 the situations, however, are well imagined, and make 
 one laugh in spite of the grossness of the dialogue, the 
 forced witticisms, and total improbability of the whole 
 plan and conduct. But wha^ disgusts me most is, 
 that though the characters are v very low, and aim at 
 low humour, not one of them says a sentence that is 
 natural, or marks any character at all." It was Gold- 
 smith's sad fortune to be lowered by habitual associa- 
 tion with persons of the highest intellect in London, 
 It was Horace Walpole's happy fortune to be elevated 
 by habitual association with persons of the highest 
 fashion. Fashion, however, is short-lived. But it must 
 not be forgotten that there was intellect enough in 
 Horace Walpole to keep his name also in lasting re- 
 membrance, although he weakly chose to draggle in 
 
 the train of fashion. 
 
 H. M. 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE MISTAKES OF A NIGHT. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 SIR CHARLES MARLOW. 
 
 YOUNG MARLOW (HIS SON). 
 
 HARDCASTLE. 
 
 HASTINGS. 
 
 TONY LUMPKIN. 
 
 DIGGORY. 
 
 MRS. HARDCASTLE. 
 Miss HARDCASTLE. 
 Miss NEVILLE. 
 MAID. 
 
 Landlord, Servants, &c. &c. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. A scene in an old-fashioned house. 
 Enter MBS. HARDCASTLE and MR. HARDCASTLE. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. I vow, Mr. Hardcastle, you're very 
 particular. Is there a creature iii the whole country, 
 but ourselves, that does not take a trip to town now 
 and then to rub off the rust a little ? There's the two 
 Miss Hoggs, and dur neighbour Mrs. Grigsby, go to 
 take a month's polishing every winter. 
 
 Hard. Ay, and bring back vanity and affectation to 
 last them the whole year. I wonder why London can- 
 not keep its own fools at home. In my time, the follies 
 A* 19 
 
10 GBE ytOCW T( (VONQVER. 
 
 of the town crept slowly among us, but now they travel 
 faster than a stage-coach. Its fopperies come down, 
 not only as inside passengers, but in the very basket. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Ay, 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 mansion, that looks 
 for all the world like an inn, but that we never see 
 company. Our best visitors are old Mrs. Oddfish, the 
 curate's wife, and little Cripplegate, the lame dancing- 
 master ; and all our entertainment, ycur old stories of 
 Prince Eugene and the Duke of Marlborough. I hate 
 such old-fashioned trumpery. 
 
 Hard. And I love it. I love everything 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. Hard. Lord, Mr. Hardcastle, you're for ever 
 at your Dorothys, and your old wives. You may be a 
 Darby, but I'll be no Joan, I promise you. I'm not so 
 old as you'd make me, by more than one good year. 
 Add twenty to twenty, and make money of 'that. 
 
 Hard. Let me see ; twenty added to twenty, makes 
 just fifty and seven. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. It's false, Mr. Hardcastle : I was but 
 twenty when Tony, that I had by Mr. Lurnpkin, my 
 first husband, was bora ; and he's not come to years of 
 discretion yet. 
 
 Hard. Nor ever will, I dare answer for him. Ay, 
 you Jiave taught him finely. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. ~No matter, Tony Lumpkiu has a good 
 fortune. My son is not to live by his learning. 1 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUEK. 11 
 
 don't think a boy wants much learning to spend 
 fifteen hundred a year. 
 
 Hard. Learning, quotha ! A mere composition of 
 tricks and mischief. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Humour, my dear: no thing but humour. 
 Gome, Mr. Hardcastle, you must allow the boy a little 
 humour. 
 
 Hard. I'd sooner allow him a horse-pond. If burning 
 the footman's shoes, frighting the maids, 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. Hard. And am I to blame ? The poor boy was 
 always too sickly to do any good. A school would be 
 his doath. When he comes to be a little stronger, who 
 knows what a year or two's Latin may do for him ? 
 
 Hard. Latin for him ! A cat and fiddle. N"q, no, 
 the ale-house and the stable are the only schools he'll 
 ever go to. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Well, we must not snub the poor boy 
 now, for I believe we shan't have him long among us. 
 Anybody that looks in his face may see he's con- 
 sumptive. 
 
 Hard. Ay, if growing too fat be one 01 th* 
 symptoms. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. He coughs sometimes. 
 
 Hard. Yes, when his lir uor goes the wrong way. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. I'm actual'/ afraid of his lungs. 
 
 Hard. And truly so a a I ; for he sometimes whoops 
 like a speaking trumpet. [TONY hallooing behind the 
 
12 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 scenes.~\ Oil, there he goes a very consumptive figure, 
 truly. 
 
 Enter TONY, crossing the stage. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Tony, where are you going, my charmer ? 
 Won't you give papa and nie a little of your company, 
 lovee ? 
 
 Tony. I'm in haste, mother ; I cannot stay. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. You shan't venture out this raw even- 
 ing, my dear ; you look most shockingly. 
 
 Tony. I can't stay, I tell you. The Three Pigeons 
 expects me down every moment. There's some fun 
 going forward. 
 
 Hard. Ay; the ale-house, the old place: I thought 
 so. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. A low, paltry set of fellows, 
 
 Tony. !N"ot so low neither. There's Dick Muggins 
 the exciseman, Jack Slang the horse-doctor, little 
 Amiiiadab that grinds the music-box, and Tom Twist 
 that spins the pewter platter. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Pray, my dear, disappoint them for one 
 night at least. 
 
 Tony. As for disappointing them, I should not so 
 much mind ; but I can't abide to disappoint myself. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. [Detaining him.~] You shan't go. 
 
 Tony. I will, I tell you. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. I say you shan't. 
 
 Tony. We'll see which is the strongest* you or I ! 
 
 [Exit, hauling her out. 
 
 HARDCASTI/?, solus. 
 Hard. Ay, there goes a pair that only spoil each 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 13 
 
 other. But is not the whole age in a combination to 
 
 * drive sense and discretion out of doors ? There's my 
 pretty darling Kate; the fashions of the times have 
 
 * almost infected her too. By living a year or two in 
 
 * town, she is as fond of gauze, and French frippery, as 
 the best of them. 
 
 Enter Miss HARDCASTLE. 
 
 Hard. Blessings on my pretty innocence ! Drest 
 out as usual, my Kate. Goodness! What a quantity 
 
 * of superfluous silk hast thou got about thee, girl ! I 
 
 * could never teach the fools of this age that the indigent 
 
 * world could be clothed out of the trimmings of the 
 
 * vain. 
 
 Miss Hard. You know our agreement, sir. You 
 allow me the morning to receive and pay visits, and to 
 dress in my own manner ; and in the evening, I put on 
 my housewife's dress to please you. 
 
 Hard. Well, remember I insist on the terms of our 
 agreement; and, by the bye, I believe I shall have 
 occasion to try your obedience this very evening. 
 
 Miss Hard. I protest, sir, I don't comprehend your 
 meaning. 
 
 Hard. Then, to be plain with you, Kate, I expect the 
 young gentleman I have chosen to be your husband 
 from town this very day. I have his father's letter, 
 in whiqhJaje informs me his son is set out, and that he 
 intends to follow himself shortly after. 
 
 Miss Hard. Indeed ! I wish I had known something 
 of this before. Bless me, how shall I behave ? It's a 
 thousand to one I shan't like him ; our meeting will be 
 
14 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 so formal, and so like a tiling of business, that I shall 
 find no room for friendship or esteem. 
 
 Hard. Depend upon it, child, I'll never control your 
 choice; Ibut Mr. Marlow, whom I have pitched upon, 
 is the son of my old friend, Sir Charles Marlow, of 
 whom you have heard me talk so often. The young 
 gentleman has been bred a scholar, and is designed for 
 an employment in the service of his country. I am 
 told he's a man of an excellent understanding. 
 
 Miss Hard. Is he ? 
 
 Hard. Yery generous. 
 
 Miss Hard. I believe I shall like him. 
 
 Hard. Young and brave. 
 
 Miss Hard. I'm sure I shall like him. 
 
 Hard. And very handsome. 
 
 Miss Hard. My dear papa, say no more [kissing Ms 
 Uand~\ ; he's mine, I'll have him ! 
 
 Hard. And to crown all, Kate, he's one of the most 
 bashful and reserved young fellows in all the world. 
 
 Miss Hard. Eh ! you have frozen me to death again. 
 That word reserved has undone all the rest of his 
 accomplishments. A reserved lover, it is said, always 
 makes a suspicious husband. 
 
 Hard. On the contrary, modesty seldom resides in a 
 breast that is not enriched with nobler virtues. It 
 was the very feature in his character that first struck 
 me. 
 
 Miss Hard. He must have more striking features to 
 catch me, I promise you. However, if he be so 
 young, so handsome, and so everything, as you men- 
 tion, I believe he'll do still. I think I'll have him, 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 15 
 
 Hard. Ay, Kate, but there is still an obstacle. It's 
 more than an even wager, he may not have you. 
 
 Miss Hard. My dear papa, why will you mortify one 
 so ? Well, if he refuses, instead of breaking my heart 
 at his indifference, I'll only break my glass for its 
 ilattery, set my cap to some newer fashion, and look 
 out for some less difficult admirer. 
 
 Hard. Bravely resolved ! In the meantime I'll go 
 prepare the servants for his reception ; as we seldom 
 see company, they want as much training as a company 
 of recruits the first day's muster. [Exit. 
 
 Miss HARDCASTLE, sola. 
 
 Miss Hard. This news of papa's puts me all in a 
 flutter. Young handsome : these he puts last ; but I 
 put them foremost. Sensible good-natured : I like 
 all that. But then reserved, and sheepish: that's 
 much against him. Yet, can't he be cured of his 
 timidity, by being taught to be proud of his wife? 
 Yes ; and can't I But, I vow, I'm disposing of the 
 husband, before I have secured the lover. 
 
 Enter Miss NEVILLE. 
 
 Miss Hard. I'm glad you're come, Neville, my dear. 
 Tell me, Constance : how do I look this evening ? Is 
 there anything whimsical about me ? Is it one of my 
 well-looking days, child ? Am I in face to-day ? 
 
 Miss Nev. Perfectly, my dear. Yet, now I look 
 again bless me ! sure no accident has happened 
 among the canary birds, or the gold fishes. Has your 
 brother or the cat been meddling? Or, has the last 
 novel been too moving ? 
 
1.6 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 Miss Hard. No ; nothing of all this. I have been 
 threatened I can scarce get it out I have been 
 threatened with a lover. 
 
 Miss Nev. And his name 
 
 Miss Hard. Is Marlow. 
 
 Miss Nev. Indeed ! 
 
 Miss Hard. The son of Sir Charles Marlow. 
 
 Miss Nev. As I live, the most intimate friend of 
 Mr. Hastings, my admirer. They are never asunder. I 
 believe you must have seen him when we lived in town. 
 
 Miss Hard. Never. 
 
 Miss Nev. He's a very singular character, I assure 
 you. Among women of reputation and virtue, he is the 
 modestest man alive ; but his acquaintance give him a 
 very different character among creatures of another 
 stamp : you understand me. 
 
 Miss Hard. An odd character, indeed. I shall never 
 be able to manage him. What shall I do? Pshaw, 
 think no more of him, but trust to occurrences for 
 success. But how goes on your own affair, my dear ? 
 Has my mother been courting you for my brother 
 Tony, as usual ? 
 
 Miss Nev. I have just come from one of our agree- 
 able tete-k-tetes. She has been saying a hundred tender 
 things, and setting off her pretty monster as the very 
 pink of perfection. 
 
 Miss Hard. And her partiality is such, that she 
 actually thinks him so. A fortune like yours is no 
 small temptation. Besides, as she has the sole man- 
 agement of it, I'm not surprised to see her unwilling to 
 let it go out of the family. 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 17 
 
 Miss Nev. A fortune like mine, which chiefly con- 
 sists in jewels, is no such mighty temptation. But at 
 any rate, if my dear Hastings be but constant, I make 
 no doubt to be too hard for her at last. However, I 
 let her suppose that I am in love with her son, and 
 she never once dreams that my affections are fixed upon 
 another. 
 
 Miss Hard. My good brother holds out stoutly. I 
 could almost love him for hating you so. 
 
 Miss Nev. It is a good-natured creature at bottom, 
 and I'm sure would wish to see me married to anybody 
 but himself. But my aunt's bell rings for our after- 
 noon's walk round the improvements. Allons ! Cour- 
 age is necessary, as our affairs are critical. 
 
 Miss Hard. Wpuld it were bed-time, and all were 
 well. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. An ale-house room. Several shabby Fel- 
 lows, with punch and tobacco. TONY at the head 
 of the table, a little higher than the rest : a mallet 
 in his hand. 
 
 Omnes. Hurrea, hurrea, hurrea, bravo ! 
 
 1 Pel. Now, gentlemen, silence for a song. The 
 'squire is going to knock himself down for a song. 
 
 Omnes. Ay, a song, a song ! 
 
 Tony. Then I'll sing you, gentlemen, a song I made 
 upon this ale-house, the Three Pigeons. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Let schoolmasters puzzle their brain, 
 
 With grammar, and nonsense, and learning ; 
 
18 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 Good liquor, I stoutly maintain, 
 
 Gives genus a better discerning. 
 Let them brag of their heathenish gods, 
 
 Their Lethes, their Styxes, and Stygians ; 
 Their quis, and their quces, and their quods, 
 
 They're all but a parcel of pigeons. 
 
 Toroddle, toroddle, toroll. 
 
 When Methodist preachers come down, 
 
 A preaching that drinking is sinful, 
 I'll wager the rascals a crown, 
 
 They always preach best with a skin-full. 
 But when you come down with your pence, 
 
 For a slice of their scurvy religion, 
 I'll leave it to all men. of sense, 
 
 But you, my good friend, are the pigeon. 
 
 Toroddle, toroddle, toroll. 
 
 Then come, put the jorum about, 
 
 And let us be merry and clever ; 
 Our hearts and our liquors are stout, 
 
 Here's the Three Jolly Pigeons for ever ! 
 Let some cry up woodcock or hare, 
 
 Your bustards, your ducks, and your widgeons ; 
 But of all the birds in the air, 
 
 Here's a health to the Three Jolly Pigeons ! 
 
 Toroddle, toroddle, toroll. 
 
 Omnes. Bravo ! bravo ! 
 
 1 Fel. The 'squire has got spunk in him. 
 
 2 Fel. I loves to hear liiin sing, bekeays he never 
 gives us nothing that's low. 
 
 3 Fel. Oh, nothing that's low, I cannot bear it. 
 
 4 Fel. The genteel thing is the genteel thing any 
 time. If so be that a gentleman bees in a concatenation 
 accordingly. 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 19 
 
 3 Pel. I like the maxum of it, Master Muggins. 
 What though I am obligated to dance a bear ? A man 
 may be a gentleman for all that. May this be my poison^ 
 if my bear ever dances but to the very genteelest of 
 tunes ; " Water parted," or " The minuet in Ariadne." 
 
 2 Pel. What a pity it is the 'squire is not come to 
 his own ! It would be well for all the publicans withii 
 ten miles round of him. 
 
 Tony. Ecod, and so it would, Master Slang. I'd then 
 show what it was to keep choice of company. 
 
 2 Fel. Oh, he takes after his own father for that. To , 
 be sure, old 'squire Lumpkin was the finest gentleman I 
 I ever set my eyes on. For winding the straight horn, | 
 or beating a thicket for a hare, he never had his fellow. \ 
 It was a saying in the place, that he kept the best horsesy 
 and dogs in the whole county. 
 
 Tony. Ecod, and when I'm of age I'll be my father's 
 son, I promise you! I have been thinking of Bet 
 Bouncer, and the miller's grey mare to begin with. 
 But come, my boys, drink about and be merry, for you 
 pay no reckoning. Well, Stingo, what's the matter ? 
 
 Enter LANDLORD. 
 
 Land. There be two gentlemen in a post-chaise at 
 the door. They have lost their way upo' the forest ; 
 and they are talking something about Mr. Hardcastle. 
 
 Tony. As sure as can be, one of them must be the 
 gentleman that's coming down to court my sister. Do 
 they seem to be Londoners ? 
 
 Land. I believe they may. They look woundily like 
 Frenchmen. 
 
20 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 Tony. Then desire them to step this way, and I'll 
 set them right in a twinkling. [Exit LANDLORD. 
 Gentlemen, as they mayn't be good enough company 
 for you, step down for a moment, and I'll be with you 
 in the squeezing of a lemon. [Exeunt mob. 
 
 TONY, solus. 
 
 Tony. Father-in-law has been calling me whelp, and 
 hound, this half-year. Now, if I pleased, I could be so 
 revenged upon the old grumbletonian. But then I'm 
 afraid afraid of what P I shall soon be worth fifteen 
 hundred a year, and let him frighten me out of that if 
 he can. 
 
 Enter LANDLORD conducting MARLOW and 
 HASTINGS. 
 
 Marl. What a tedious, uncomfortable day have we 
 had of it ! We were told it was but forty miles across 
 the country, and we have come above threescore. 
 
 Hast. And all, Marlow, from that unaccountable 
 reserve of yours, that would not let us inquire more 
 frequently on the way. 
 
 Marl. I own, Hastings, I am unwilling to lay myself 
 under an obligation to every one I meet : and often 
 stand the chance of an unmannerly answer. 
 
 Hast. At present, however, we are not likely to 
 receive any answer. 
 
 Tony. No offence, gentlemen ; but I'm told you have 
 been inquiring for one Mr. Hardcastle, in these parts. 
 Do you know what part of the country you are in ? 
 
 Hast. Not in the least, sir; but should thank you 
 for information. 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 21 
 
 Tony, Nor the way you came ? 
 
 Hast. No, sir ; but if you can inform us 
 
 Tony. Why, gentlemen, if you know neither the road 
 you are going, nor where you are, nor the road you 
 came, the first thing I have to inform you, is, that you 
 have lost your way. 
 
 Marl. We wanted no ghost to tell us that. 
 
 Tony. Pray, gentlemen, may I be so bold as to ask 
 the place from whence you came ? 
 
 Marl. That's not necessary towards directing us 
 where we are to go. 
 
 Tony. No offence ; but question for question is all 
 fair, you know. Pray, gentlemen, is not this same 
 Hardcastle a cross-grained, old-fashioned, whimsical 
 fellow with an ugly face; a daughter, and a pretty 
 son? 
 
 Hast. We have not seen the gentleman ; but he has 
 the family you mention. 
 
 Tony. The daughter, a tall trapesirig, trolloping, 
 talkative May-pole. The son, a pretty, well-bred, 
 agreeable youth, that everybody is fond of. 
 
 Marl. Our information differs in this. The daughter 
 is said to be well-bred and beautiful ; the son an awk- 
 ward booby, reared up, and spoiled at his mother's 
 apron-string. 
 
 Tony. He-he-hem ! Then, gentlemen, all I have to 
 tell you is, that you won't reach Mr. Hardcastle's house 
 this night, I believe. 
 
 Hast. Unfortunate ! 
 
 Tony. It's a long, dark, boggy, dirty, dangerous 
 way. Stingo, tell the gentlemen the way to Mr. Hard- 
 
22 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 castle's [winking upon the landlord] ; Mr. Hardcastle's 
 of Quagmire Marsh ; you understand me. 
 
 Land. Master Hardcastle's ? Lack - a - daisy, my 
 masters, you're come a deadly deal wrong ! When you 
 came to the bottom of the hill, you should have crossed 
 down Squash Lane. 
 
 Marl. Cross down Squash Lane ? 
 
 Land. Then you were to keep straight forward, till 
 you came to four roads. 
 
 Marl. Come to where four roads meet ! 
 
 Tony. Ay ; but you must be sure to take only one of 
 them. 
 
 Marl. Oh, sir, you're facetious. 
 
 Tony. Then keeping to the right, you are to go side- 
 W"ays 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 
 
 Marl. Zounds, man ! we could as soon find out the 
 longitude ! 
 
 Hast. What's to be done, Marlow ? 
 
 Marl. 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 would accommodate the 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 23 
 
 gentlemen by the fire-side, with three chairs and a 
 bolster ? 
 
 Hast. I hate sleeping by the fire-side. 
 
 Marl. 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 county ? 
 
 Hast. Oh, 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 a 
 keeps as good wines and beds as any in the whole 
 country. 
 
 Marl. Well, if he supplies us with these, we shall 
 
24 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 want no further connection. 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^] Muni. 
 
 Land. Ah, you are a sweet, pleasant mischievous 
 humbug. \_Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. An old-fashioned "house. 
 
 Enter HAIIDCASTLE, followed by three or four 
 awkward Servants. 
 
 Hard. Well, I hope you're perfect in the table exer- 
 cise 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. 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER, 25 
 
 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 parfeetly 
 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. 
 
 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 1 
 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 ? 
 
26 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 A glass of wine, sir, if you please. [To DIGGORY.] 
 Eh, why don't you move ? 
 
 J)igg. Ecod, your worship, I never have courage till 
 I see the eatables and drinkables brought upon the 
 table, and then I'm as.bauld as a lion. 
 
 Hard. What, will nobody move ? 
 
 1 Serv. I'm not to leave this pleace. 
 
 2 Serv. I'm sure it's no pleace of mine. 
 
 3 Serv. Nor mine, for sartgin, 
 
 Digg. Wauiis, and I'm sure it canna be mine. 
 
 Hard. You numsculls ! and so while, like your 
 betters, you are quarrelling for places, the guests must 
 be starved. Oh, you dunces ! I find I must begin all 
 over again. But don't I x hear a coach drive into the 
 yard ? To your posts, you blockheads ! I'll go in the 
 meantime, and give my old friend's son a hearty recep- 
 tion at the gate. [Exit HARDCASTLE. 
 
 Digg. By the elevens, my pleace is gone quite out 
 of my head. 
 
 Roger. I know that my pleace is to be everywhere. 
 
 1 Serv. Where is mine ? 
 
 2 Serv. My pleace is to be nowhere at all ; and so 
 t'ze go about my business. [Exeunt Servants, run- 
 ning about as if frightened, different ways.~] 
 
 Enter Servant with candles, showing 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. 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 27 
 
 and a good fire. Upon my word, a very well-looking 
 house; antique, but creditable. 
 
 Marl. The usual fate of a large mansion. Having 
 first ruined the master by good housekeeping, it at 
 last conies 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, though not actually 
 put in the bill, inflame a reckoning confoundedly. 
 
 Marl. 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 very 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. 
 
 Marl. 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 my mother. 
 
 Hast. In the company of women of reputation, I 
 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. 
 
 Marl. Why, man, that's because I do want to steal 
 out of the room ! I have often formed a resolution to 
 
28 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 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 gay half the fine things to 
 them that I have heard you lavish upon the barmaid of 
 an inn. 
 
 Marl. 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 ? 
 
 Marl. Never, unless, as among kings and princes, 
 my bride were to be courted by proxy. If, indeed, like 
 an Eastern bridegroom, 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 blurt out the broad-star question 
 of Madam, will you marry me 1 No, no ; that's a 
 strain much above me, I assure you. 
 
 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 ? 
 
 Marl. As I behave to all other ladies : bow very 
 low ; answer 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 fathei-'s again. 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 29 
 
 Hast. I am surprised that one who is so warm a 
 friend can be so cool a lover. 
 
 Marl. 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. 
 
 Marl. Happy man! You have talents and art to 
 captivate any woman. I am doomed to adore " the sex, . 
 and yet to converse with the only part of it I despise. W 
 This stammer in my address, and this awkward pre- 
 possessing visage of mine, can never permit me to soar 
 r Pshaw ! this fellow here to interrupt us. 
 
 Enter HARDCASTLE. 
 
 Hard. Gentlemen, once more you are heartily 
 welcome. Which is Mr. Marlow ? Sir, you're 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. 
 
 Marl. \_Aside.~] He has got our names from the 
 servants already. [To him.'] We approve your caution 
 and hospitality, sir. [To HASTINGS.] I have been 
 Blinking, George, of changing our travelling dresses- 
 
 \ 
 
30 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER, 
 
 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, Charles, 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. 
 
 Marl. 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 he 
 went to besiege Denain. He first summoned the 
 garrison 
 
 Marl. Don't you think the venire 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 
 
 Marl. The girls like finery. 
 
 Hard. Which might consist of about five thousand 
 men, well appointed with stores, ammunition, and 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 31 
 
 other implements of war. Now, says the Duke of 
 Marlborough to George Brooks, that stood next to him 
 you must have heard of George Brooks " I'll pawn 
 my dukedom," says he, " but I'll take that garrison, 
 without spilling a drop of blood." So 
 
 Marl. What, my good friend, if you gave us a 
 glass of punch in the meantime ? It would help us to 
 carry on the siege with vigour. 
 
 Hard. Punch, sir ! [Aside] This is the most un- 
 accountable kind of modesty I ever met with. * 
 
 Marl. 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. 
 
 Marl. [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 owi> the ingredients are tolerable. 
 Will you be so good as to pledge me, sir ? Here, Mr. 
 Marlow, here is to our better acquaintance. [DrinksJ] 
 
 Marl. [Aside.'] A very impudent fellow this ! But 
 he's a character, and I'll humour him a little. [To 
 him.'] Sir, my service to you. [Drinks.'] 
 
 Hast. [Aside. ~] I see this fellow wants to give us 
 his company, and forgets that he's an innkeeper, before 
 he has learned to be a gentleman. 
 
 Marl. 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. 
 
32 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 Hard. No, sir, I have long given that work over. 
 Since our betters have hit upon the expedient of 
 electing each other, there's 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 Ally, or Ally Cawn, than about 
 Ally Croker. Sir, my service to you. t 
 
 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. 
 
 Marl. [After dr inking. ~\ And you have an argument 
 in your cup, old gentleman, better than any in West- 
 minster Hall. 
 
 Hard. Ay, young gentleman, that, and a little 
 philosophy. 
 
 Marl. [ Aside. ,] "Well, this is the first time I ever 
 heard of an innkeeper'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 philosopher. 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 33 
 
 Hard. Good, very good, thank you ; ha ! ha ! Your 
 generalship puts me in mind of Prince Eugene, when 
 he fought the Turks at the battle of Belgrade. You 
 shall hear. 
 
 Marl. Instead of the battle of Belgrade, I think it's 
 almost time to talk about supper. What has your 
 philosophy got in the house for supper ? 
 
 Hard. For supper, sir ! [ Aside.] Was ever such a 
 request to a man in his own house ? 
 
 Marl. Yes, sir ; supper, sir : I begin to feel an appe- 
 tite. I shall make sad work to-night in the larder, I 
 promise you. 
 
 Hard. \_Aside.~] Such a brazen dog sure never my 
 eyes beheld. [To him.~\ Why, really, sir, as for supper, 
 I can't well tell. My Dorothy and the cook-maid 
 settle these things between them. I leave these kind 
 of things entirely to them. 
 
 Marl. You do, do you ? 
 
 Hard. Entirely. By-the-bye, I believe they are in 
 actual consultation, upon what's for supper, this moment 
 in the kitchen. 
 
 Marl. Then I beg they'll admit me as one of their 
 privy council. It's a way I have got. When I travel, 
 I always choose to regulate my own supper. Let the 
 cook be called. No offence, I hope, sir. 
 
 Hard. Oh, no, sir, none in the least; yet I don't 
 know how, our Bridget, the cook-maid, is not very com- 
 municative upon these occasions. Should we send for 
 her, she might scold us all out of the house. 
 
 Hast. Let's see the list of the larder, then. I ask it as 
 a favour. I always march my appetite to my bill of fare. 
 B 19 
 
34' 
 
 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUEE,. 
 
 Marl. [To HARDCASTLE, ivlio looks at them ivith 
 surprise.'] Sir, lie's very right, and it's my way 
 too. 
 
 Hard. Sir, you have a right to command here. Here, 
 Roger, bring us the bill of fare for to-night's supper. 
 I believe it's drawn out. Your manner, Mr. Hastings, 
 puts me in mind of my uncle, Colonel Wallop. It was 
 a saying of his, that no man was sure of his supper till 
 he had eaten it. 
 
 Hast. [Aside.~\ All upon the high ropes ! His uncle 
 a colonel ! We shall soon hear of Jris mother being a 
 justice of the peace. But let's hear the bill of fare. 
 
 Marl. [Perusing."] What's here? For the first 
 course ; for the second course ; for the dessert. Sir, do 
 you think we have brought down the whole Joiners' 
 company, or the corporation of Bedford, to eat up such 
 a supper ? Two or three little things, clean and com- 
 fortable, will do. 
 
 Hast. But let's hear it. 
 
 Marl. [Reading.~] For the first course at the top, a 
 pig and prune sauce. 
 
 Hast. I hate your pig, I say. 
 
 Marl. And I hate your prune sauce, say I. 
 
 Hard. And yet, gentlemen, to men that are hungry, 
 pig, with prune sauce, is very good eating. 
 
 Marl. At the bottom, a calf's tongue and brains. 
 
 Hast. Let your brains be knocked out, my good sir ; 
 I don't like them. 
 
 Marl. Or you may clap them on a plate by them- 
 selves. I do. 
 
 Hard. [Aside.'] Their impudence confounds me. [To 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER 35 
 
 them.'] Gentlemen, you are niy guests, make what 
 alterations you please. Is there anything else you wish 
 to retrench or alter, gentlemen. ? 
 
 Marl. Item, a pork pie, a boiled rabbit and sausages, 
 a florentine, a shaking pudding, and a dish of tiffi-taff:- 
 taffety cream ! 
 
 Hast. Confound your made dishes ! I shall be as 
 much at a loss in this house as at a green and yellow 
 dinner at the French ambassador's table. I'm for 
 plain eating. 
 
 Hard. I'm sorry, gentlemen, that I have nothing 
 you like ; but if there be anything you have a particular 
 fancy to 
 
 Marl. Why, sir, your bill of fare is so exquisite, that 
 any one part of it is full as good as another. Send 
 us what you please. So much for supper ^ and now 
 to see that our beds are aired and properly taken 
 care of. 
 
 Hard. I entreat you'll leave all that to me. You 
 shall not stir a step. 
 
 Marl. Leave that to you ? I protest, sir, you must 
 excuse me ; I always look to these things myself. 
 
 Hard. I must insist, sir, you'll make yourself easy 
 on that head. 
 
 Marl. You see I'm resolved on it. \_Aside.~] A very 
 troublesome fellow this, as ever I met with. 
 
 Hard. Well, sir, I'm resolved at least to attend 
 you. \_Aside.~] This may be modern modesty, but 
 I never saw anything look so like old-fashioned im- 
 pudence. 
 
 LJZxeunt MARL, and HAHD. 
 
36 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 HASTINGS, solus. 
 
 Hast. So I find, this fellow's civilities begin to grow 
 troublesome. But who can be angry at these assiduities, 
 which are meant to please him ? Ha ! what do I see ? 
 Miss Neville, by all that's happy ! 
 
 Enter Miss NEVILLE. 
 
 Miss Nev. My dear Hastings ! To what unexpected 
 good fortune, to what accident, am I to ascribe this 
 happy meeting ? 
 
 Hast. Rather, let me ask the same question, as I 
 could never have hoped to meet my dear Constance at 
 an inn. 
 
 Miss Nev. An inn ! sure you mistake ! my aunt, my 
 guardian, lives here. What could induce you to think 
 this house an inn P 
 
 Hast. My friend, Mr. Marlow, with whom I came 
 down, and I, have been sent here as to an inn, I assure 
 you. A young fellow, whom we accidentally met at a 
 house hard by, directed us hither. 
 
 Miss Nev. Certainly it must be one of my hopeful 
 cousin's tricks, of whom you have heard nie talk so 
 often, ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Hast. He whom your aunt intends for you ? He of 
 whom I have such just apprehensions ? 
 
 Miss Nev. You have nothing to fear from him, I 
 assure you. You'd adore him, if you knew how heartily 
 he despises me. My aunt knows it too, and lias 
 undertaken to court me for him ; and actually begins 
 to think she has made a conquest. 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 37 
 
 Hast. Thou dear dissembler ! You must know, my 
 Constance, I have just seized this happy opportunity 
 of my friend's visit here, to get admittance into the 
 family. The horses that carried us down are now 
 fatigued with their journey; but they'll soon be 
 refreshed ; and then, if my dearest girl will trust in 
 her faithful Hastings, we shall soon be landed in 
 France ; where, even among slaves, the laws of marriage 
 are respected. 
 
 Miss Nev. I have often told you, that though ready 
 to obey you, I yet should leave my little fortune behind 
 with reluctance. The greatest part of it was left me 
 by my uncle, the India director, and chiefly consists in 
 jewels. I have been for some time persuading my aunt 
 to let me wear them. I fancy I am very near succeed- 
 ing. The instant they are put into my possession, 
 you shall find me ready to make them and myself 
 yours. 
 
 Hast. Perish the baubles ! Your person is all I 
 desire. In the meantime, my friend Marlow must not 
 be let into his mistake ; I know the strange reserve of 
 his temper is such, that if abruptly informed of it, he 
 would instantly quit the house, before our plan was 
 ripe for execution. 
 
 Miss Nev. But how shall we keep him in the decep- 
 tion ? Miss Hardcastle is just returned from walking ; 
 what if we still continue to deceive him ? This, this 
 way. [They confer, 
 
 Enter MARLOW. 
 
 Marl. The assiduities of these good people tease 
 me beyond bearing. My host seems to think it ill 
 
38 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 manners to leave me alone, and so he claps not only 
 himself, but his old-fashioned wife on my back. They 
 talk of coming to sup with us too ; and then, I suppose, 
 we are to run the gauntlet through all the rest of the 
 family. What have we got here ? 
 
 Hast. My dear Charles ! Let me congratulate you ! 
 The most fortunate accident ! "Who do you think is 
 just alighted ? 
 
 Marl. Cannot guess. 
 
 Hast. Our mistresses, boy, Miss Hardcastle and 
 Miss Neville. Give me leave to introduce Miss Con- 
 stance Neville to your acquaintance. Happening to 
 dine in the neighbourhood, they called, on their return, 
 to take fresh horses here. Miss Hardcastle has just 
 stepped into the next room, and will be back in an 
 instant. Wasn't it lucky, eh ? 
 
 Marl. [Aside."] I have just been mortified enough, of 
 all conscience, and here comes something to complete 
 my embarrassment. 
 
 Hast. Well, but wasn't it the most fortunate thing 
 in the world ? 
 
 Marl. Oh ! yes. Yery fortunate a most joyful 
 encounter. But our dresses, George, you know, are in 
 disorder. What if we should postpone the happiness 
 till to-morrow ? To-morrow, at her own house ; it will 
 be every bit as convenient, and rather more respectful. 
 To-morrow let it be. [Offering to go. 
 
 Miss Nev. By no means, sir. Your ceremony will 
 displease her. The disorder of your dress will show 
 the ardour of your impatience^ besides, she knows 
 you are in the house, and will permit you to see her. 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 39 
 
 Marl. Oh ! how shall I support it ? Hem ! hem ! 
 Hastings, you must not go. You are to assist me, you 
 know. I shall be confoundedly ridiculous. Yet hang 
 it ! I'll take courage. Hem ! 
 
 Hast. Pshaw, man ! it's but the first plunge, and all's 
 over. She's but a woman, you know. 
 
 Marl. And of all women, she that I dread most to 
 encounter. 
 
 Enter Miss HARDCASTLE, as returning from 
 walking, in a bonnet, &c. 
 
 Hast. [Introducing him.~\ Miss Hardcastle Mr. 
 Marlow. I'm proud of bringing two persons of such 
 merit together, that only want to know, to esteem each 
 other. 
 
 Miss Hard. [Aside."] Now, for meeting my modest 
 gentleman with a demure face, and quite in his own 
 manner. [After a pause, in which he appears very 
 uneasy and disconcerted.'] I'm glad of your safe 
 arrival, sir. I'm told you had some accidents by the 
 way. 
 
 Marl. Only a few, madam. Yes, we had some. 
 Yes, madam, a good many accidents ; but should be 
 sorry madam or rather glad of any accidents that 
 are so agreeably concluded. Hem ! 
 
 Hast. [To him.~] You never spoke better in your 
 whole life. Keep it up, and I'll ensure you the victory. 
 
 Miss Hard. I'm afraid you flatter, sir. You, that 
 have seen so much of the finest company, can find 
 little entertainment in an obscure corner of the 
 coiiat.ry. 
 
 
40 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 Marl. [Gathering courage.] I have lived, indeed, in 
 the world, madam ; but I have kept very little com- 
 pany. I have been but an observer upon life, madam, 
 while others were enjoying it. 
 
 Miss Nev. But that, I am told, is the way to enjoy 
 it at last. 
 
 Hast. [To him.] Cicero never spoke better. Once 
 more, and you are confirmed in assurance for ever. 
 
 Marl. [To him.'] Hem ! Stand by me, then ; and 
 when I'm down, throw in a word or two, to set me up 
 again. 
 
 Miss Hard. An observer, like you, upon life, were, 
 I fear, disagreeably employed, since you must have 
 had much more to censure than to approve. 
 
 Marl. Pardon me, madam. I was always willing to 
 be amused. The folly of most people is rather an ob- 
 ject of mirth than uneasiness. 
 
 Hast. [To him.] Bravo, bravo ! Never spoke so 
 well in your whole life. Well ! [To Miss HARD.] 
 Miss Hardcastle, I see that you and Mr. Marlow are 
 going to be very good company. I believe our being 
 here will but embarrass the interview. 
 
 Marl. Not in the least, Mr. Hastings. We like 
 your company of all things. [To him.] Zounds ! George, 
 sure you won't go how can you leave us ? 
 
 Hast. Our presence will but spoil conversation, so 
 well retire to the next room. [To him.] You don't 
 consider, man, that we are to manage a little tete-a-tete 
 of our own. [Exeunt. 
 
 Miss Hard. [After a pause.] But you have not 
 been wholly an observer, I presume, sir : the ladies, I 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 41 
 
 should hope, have employed some part of your ad- 
 dresses. 
 
 Marl. [Relapsing into timidity.] Pardon me, 
 madam, I I I as yet have studied only to de- 
 serve them. 
 
 Miss Hard. And that, some say, is the very worst 
 way to obtain them. 
 
 Marl. Perhaps so, mffdam. But I love to converse 
 only with the more grave and sensible part of the sex. 
 But I'm afraid I grow tiresome. 
 
 Miss Hard. Not at all, sir ; there is nothing I like 
 so much as grave conversation myself ; I could hear it 
 for ever. Indeed, I have often been surprised how a 
 man of sentiment could ever admire those light, airy 
 pleasures, where nothing reaches the heart. 
 
 Marl. It's a disease of the mind, madam. In the 
 variety of tastes there must be some, who, wanting a 
 relish for uni- a-um . 
 
 Miss Hard. I understand you, sir. There must be 
 some, who, wanting a relish for refined pleasures, pre- 
 tend to despise what they ara incapable of tasting. 
 
 Marl. My meaning, madam, but infinitely better 
 expressed. And I can't help observing a 
 
 Miss Hard. [Aside. ~\ Who could ever suppose this 
 fellow impudent upon some occasions ? [To him.] You 
 were going to observe, sir 
 
 Marl. I was observing, madam I protest, madam, 
 I forget what I was going to observe. 
 
 Miss Hard. [Aside."] I vow, and so do I. [To him.] 
 You were observing, sir, that in this age of hypocrisy 
 something about hypocrisy, sir. 
 B* 19 
 
42 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 Marl. Yes, madam; in this age of hypocrisy there 
 are few who, upon strict inquiry, do not a a a 
 
 Miss Hard. I understand you perfectly, sir. 
 
 Marl. [AsideJ] Indeed! and that's more than I do 
 myself. 
 
 Miss Hard. You mean that, in this hypocritical age, 
 there are few that do not condemn in public what they 
 practise in private, and think they pay every debt to 
 virtue when they praise it. 
 
 Marl. True, madam ; those who have most virtue in 
 their mouths have least of it in their bosoms. But I'm 
 sure I tire you, madam. 
 
 Miss Hard. Not in the least, sir ; there's something 
 so agreeable, and spirited, in your manner ; such life 
 and force pray, sir, go on. 
 
 Marl. Yes, madam ; I was saying that there are 
 some occasions when a total want of courage, madam, 
 destroys all the and puts us upon a^-a a 
 
 Miss Hard. I agree with you entirely ; a want of 
 courage upon some occasions, assumes the appearance 
 of ignorance, and betrays us when we most want to 
 excel. I beg you'll proceed. 
 
 Marl. Yes, madam ; morally speaking, madam But 
 I see Miss Neville expecting us in the next room. I 
 would not intrude for the world. 
 
 Miss Hard. I protest, sir, I never was more agree- 
 ably entertained in all my life. Pray go on. 
 
 Marl. Yes, madam; I was But she beckons us to 
 join her. Madam, shall I do myself the honour to 
 attend you? 
 
 Miss Hard. Well then, I'll follow. 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 43 
 
 Marl. [Aside.'] This pretty smooth dialogue has 
 done for me. [Exit. 
 
 Miss HARDCASTLE, sola. 
 
 Miss Hard. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Was there ever such a 
 sober, sentimental interview? I'm certain he scarce 
 looked in my face the whole time. Yet the fellow, but 
 for his unaccountable bashfulness, is pretty well too. 
 He has good sense ; but then, so buried in his fears, 
 that it fatigues one more than ignorance. If I could 
 teach him a little confidence, It would be doing some- 
 body, that I know of, a piece of service. But who 
 is that somebody? that is a question I can scarce 
 - answer. [Exit. 
 
 Enter TONY and Miss NEVILLE, followed ly 
 MRS. HARDCASTLE and HASTINGS. 
 
 Tony. What do you follow me for, Cousin Con ? I 
 wonder you're not ashamed to be so very engaging. 
 
 Miss Nev. I hope, cousin, one may speak to one's 
 own relations, and not be to blame ? 
 
 Tony. Ay, but I know what sort of a relation yon 
 want to make me, though ; but it won't do. I tell you, 
 Cousin Con, it won't do, so I beg you'll keep your dis- 
 tance ; I want no nearer relationship. 
 
 [She follows, coquetting him to the back-scene. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Well ! I vow, Mr. Hastings, you are 
 very entertaining. There's nothing in the world I 
 love to talk of so much as London, and the fashions, 
 though I was never there myself. 
 
 Hast. Never there ! You amaze me ! Prom your 
 
14 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 air and manner, I concluded you had been bred all 
 your life either at E/anelagh, St. James's, or Tower 
 Wharf. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Oh ! sir, you're only pleased to say so. 
 We country persons can have no manner at all. I'm in 
 Jove with the town, and that serves to raise me above 
 some of our neighbouring rustics ; but who can have a 
 manner, that has never seen the Pantheon, the Grotto 
 Gardens, the Borough, and such places where the 
 nobility chiefly resort ? All I can do is to enjoy 
 London at second-hand. I take care to know every 
 tete-a-tete from the Scandalous Magazine, and have all 
 the fashions, as they come out, in a letter from the two 
 Miss Rickets of Crooked Lane. Pray, how do you 
 like this head, Mr. Hastings ? 
 
 Hast. Extremely elegant and degagee, upon my word, 
 madam. Your f riseur is a Frenchman, I suppose ? 
 
 Mrs. Hard. I protest I dressed it myself from a 
 print in the Ladies' Memorandum Book for the last 
 year. 
 
 Hast. Indeed ! such a head in a side-box, at the 
 play-house, would draw as many gazers as my Lady 
 Mayoress at a city ball. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. I vow, since inoculation began there is 
 no such thing to be seen as a plain woman ; so one 
 must dress a little particular, or one may escape in the 
 crowd. 
 
 Hast. But that can never be your case, madam, in 
 any dress. [Bowing."] 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Yet what signifies my dressing when I 
 have such a piece of antiquity by my side as Mr. 
 
SHE STOOPS TO COtfQTTER. 45 
 
 Hard castle? All I can say will not argne down a 
 single button from his clothes. I have often wanted 
 him to throw off his great flaxen wig, and where he 
 was bald to plaster it over, like my Lord Pately, with 
 powder. 
 
 Hast. You are right, madam; for as among the 
 ladies there are none ugly, so among the men there 
 are none old. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. But what do you think his answer 
 was ? Why, with his usual Gothic vivacity, he said, 
 I only wanted him to throw off his wig, to convert it 
 into a tete for my own wearing. 
 
 Hast. Intolerable ! At your age you may wear what 
 you please, and it must become you. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Pray, Mr. Hastings, what do you take 
 to be the most fashionable age about town? 
 
 Hast. Some time ago, forty was all the mode ; but 
 I'm told the ladies intend to bring up fifty for the 
 ensuing winter. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Seriously ! then I shall be too young 
 for the fashion. 
 
 Hast. No lady begins now to put on jewels till she's 
 past forty. For instance, Miss there, in a polite circle, 
 would be considered as a child, as a mere maker of 
 samplers. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. And yet Mrs. Niece thinks herself as 
 much a woman, and is as fond of jewels, as the oldest 
 of us all. 
 
 Hast. Your niece, is she? and that young gentle- 
 man a brother of yours, I should presume ? 
 
 Mrs. Hard. My son, sir. They are contracted to 
 
46 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 each other. Observe their little sports. They fall in 
 and out ten times a day, as if they were man and wife 
 already. [To themJ] Well, Tony, child, what soft 
 things are you saying to your cousin Constance this 
 evening ? 
 
 Tony. I have been saying no soft things ; but that 
 it's very hard to be followed about so. Ecod, I've not 
 a place in the house now that's left to myself, but the 
 stable. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Never mind him, Con, my dear. He's 
 in another story behind your back. 
 
 Miss Nev. There's something generous in my cousin's 
 manner. He falls out before faces to be forgiven in 
 private. 
 
 Tony. That's a confounded crack. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Ah! he's a sly one. Don't you think 
 they're like each other about the mouth, Mr. Hastings ? 
 The Blenkinsop mouth to a T. They're of a size, too. 
 Back to back, my pretties, that Mr. Hastings may see 
 you. Come, Tony. 
 
 Tony. You had as good not make me, I tell you. 
 [Measuring.'] 
 
 Miss. Nev. Oh ! he has almost cracked my head. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Oh, the monster ! For shame, Tony. 
 You a man, and behave so ! 
 
 Tony. If I'm a man, let me have my fortin. Ecod, 
 I'll not be made a fool of no longer. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Is this, ungrateful boy, all that I'm to 
 get for the pains I have taken in your education ? I 
 that have rocked you in- your cradle, and fed that 
 pretty mouth with a spoon? Did not I work that 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 47 
 
 waistcoat to make you genteel P Did not I prescribe 
 for you every day, and weep while the receipt was 
 operating ? 
 
 Tony. Ecod, you had reason to weep, for you have 
 been dosing me ever since I was born. I have gone 
 through every receipt in the Complete Huswife ten 
 times over ; and you have thoughts of coursing me 
 through Quincy next spring. But, ecod, I tell you, 
 I'll not be made a fool of no longer. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Wasn't it all for your good, viper ? 
 Wasn't it all for your good ? 
 
 -~Tcffiy. I wish you'd let me and my good alone, then. 
 Snubbing this way, when I'm in spirits. If I'm to 
 have any good, let it come of itself; not to keep ding- 
 ing it, dinging it into one so. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. That's false ; I never see you when you 
 are in spirits. No, Tony, you then go to the alehouse, 
 or kennel. I'm never to be delighted with your 
 agreeable wild notes, unfeeling monster ! 
 
 Tony. Ecod, mamma, your own notes are the wildest 
 of the two. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Was ever the like ! But I see he 
 wants to break my heart, I see he does. 
 
 Hast. Dear madam, permit me to lecture the young 
 gentleman a little. I'm certain I can persuade him to 
 his duty. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Well ! I must retire. Come, Constance, 
 my love. You see, Mr. Hastings, the wretchedness of 
 my situation. Was ever poor woman so plagued with 
 a dear, sweet, pretty, provoking, undutiful boy ? 
 
 [Exeunt MRS. HARD, and Miss NEVILLE. 
 
48 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 HASTINGS. TONY. 
 Tony. [SingingJ] 
 
 There was a young man riding by, 
 And fain would have his will. 
 
 Bang do didlo dee. 
 
 Don't mind her. Let her cry. It's the comfort of her 
 heart. I have seen her and sister cry over a book for 
 an hour together ; and they said they liked the Look 
 the better the more it made them cry. 
 
 Hast. Then you're no friend to the ladies, I find, my 
 pretty young gentleman. 
 
 Tony. That's as I find 'urn. 
 
 Hast. Not to her of your mother's choosing, I dare 
 answer : and yet she appears to me a pretty, well-tem- 
 pered girl. 
 
 Tony. That's because you don't know her as well as 
 I. Ecod, I know every inch about her, and there's 
 not a more bitter, cantankerous toad in all Christendom. 
 
 Hast. [Aside.'} Pretty encouragement this for a 
 lover ! 
 
 Tony. I have seen her since the height of that. She 
 has as many tricks as a hare in a thicket, or a colt the 
 first day's breaking. 
 
 JIast. To me she appears sensible and silent. 
 
 Tony. Ay, before company. But when she's with 
 her playmates, she's as loud as a hog in a gate. 
 
 Hast. But there is a meek modesty about her that 
 charms me. 
 
 Tony. Yes ; but curb her never so little, she kicks up, 
 and you're flung in a ditch. 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 49 
 
 Hast. Well, but you must allow her a little beauty. 
 Yes, you must allow her some beauty. 
 
 Tony, Bandbox ! She's all a made up thing, mun. 
 Ah ! could you but see Bet Bouncer, of these parts, 
 you might then talk of beauty. Ecod, she has two 
 eyes as black as sloes, and cheeks as broad and red as 
 a pulpit cushion. She'd make two of she. 
 
 Hast. Well, what say you to a friend that would 
 take this bitter bargain off your hands ? 
 
 Tony. Anon ! 
 
 Hast. Would you thank him that would take Miss 
 Neville, and leave you to happiness and your dear 
 Betsy ? 
 
 Tony. Ay ; but where is there such a friend ? for 
 who would take her ? 
 
 Hast. I am he. If you but assist me, I'll engage to 
 whip her off to France, and you shall never hear more 
 of her. 
 
 Tony. Assist you ! Ecod, I will, to the last drop of 
 my blood. I'll clap a pair of horses to your chaise 
 that shall trundle you off in a twinkling ; and may be, 
 get you a part of her fortin beside, in jewels, that you 
 little dream of. 
 
 Hast. My dear 'squire, this looks like a lad of 
 spirit. 
 
 Tony. Come along then, and you shall see more of 
 my spirit before you have done with me. [Singing. 
 
 We are the boys 
 
 That fears no noise 
 
 Where the thundering cannons roar. 
 
 [Exeunt^ 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. Enter HARDCASTLE, solus. 
 
 Hard. What could my old friend Sir Charles mean, 
 by recommending his son as the modestest young man 
 in town ? To me he appears the most impudent piece 
 of brass that ever spoke with a tongue. He has taken 
 possession of the easy- chair by the fireside already. He 
 took off his boots in the parlour, and desired me to see 
 them taken care of. I'm desirous to know how his 
 impudence affects my daughter. She will certainly be 
 shocked at it. 
 
 Enter Miss HARDCASTLE, plainly dressed. 
 
 Hard. Well, my Kate, I see you have changed your 
 dress, as I bid you ; and yet, I believe, there was no 
 great occasion. 
 
 Miss Hard. I find such a pleasure, sir, in obeying 
 your commands, that I take care to obey them without 
 ever debating their propriety. 
 
 Hard. And yet, Kate, I sometimes give you some 
 cause, particularly when I recommended iny modest 
 gentleman to you as a lover to-day. 
 
 Miss Hard. You taught me to expect something 
 extraordinary, and I find the original exceeds the 
 description. 
 
 Hard. I was never so surprised in my life ! He has 
 quite confounded all my faculties ! 
 
 Miss Hard. I never saw anything like it : and a man 
 of the world, too ! 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUEB. 51 
 
 Hard. Ay, he learned, it all abroad. What a fool 
 was I to think a young man could learn modesty by 
 travelling ! He might as soon learn wit at a masquer- 
 ade. 
 
 Miss Hard. It seems all natural to him. 
 
 Hard. A good deal assisted by bad company, and a 
 French dancing-master. 
 
 Miss Hard. Sure you mistake, papa! A French 
 dancing-master could never have taught him that 
 timid look that awkward address that bashful 
 
 Hard. Whose look ? whose manner, child ? 
 
 Miss Hard. Mr. Marlow's : his mauvaise honte, his 
 timidity, struck me at the first sight. 
 
 Hard. Then your first sight deceived you ; for I 
 think him one of the most brazen first- sights that ever 
 astonished my senses. 
 
 Miss Hard. Sure, sir, you rally ! I never saw any 
 one so modest. 
 
 Hard. And can you be serious ? I never saw such 
 a bouncing, swaggering puppy since I was born ! 
 Bully Dawson was but a fool to him. 
 
 Miss Hard. Surprising ! He met me with a re- 
 spectful bow, a stammering voice, and a look fixed on 
 the ground. 
 
 Hard. He met me with a loud voice, a lordly air, 
 and a familiarity that made my blood freeze again. 
 
 Miss Hard. He treated me with diffidence and 
 respect ; censured the manners of the age ; admired the 
 prudence of girls that never laughed ; tired me with 
 apologies for being tiresome ; then left the room with 
 
5 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 a bow, and " Madam, I would not for the world detain 
 you." 
 
 Hard. He spoke to me as if he knew me all his life 
 before ; asked twenty questions, and never waited for 
 an answer; interrupted my best remarks with some 
 silly pun ; and when I was in my best story of the 
 Duke of Marlborough and Prince Eugene, he asked if 
 I had not a good hand at making punch. Yes, Kate, 
 he asked your father if he was a maker of punch ! 
 
 Miss Hard. One of us must certainly be mistaken. 
 
 Hard. If he be what he has shown himself, I'm 
 determined he shall never have my consent. 
 
 Miss Hard. And if he be the sullen thing I take 
 him, he shall never have mine. 
 
 Hard. In one thing then we are agreed to reject 
 him. 
 
 Miss Hard. Yes. But upon conditions. For if 
 you should find him less impudent, and I more pre- 
 suming ; if you find him more respectful, and I more 
 importunate I don't know the fellow is well enough 
 for a man. Certainly, we don't meet many such at a 
 horse-race in the country. 
 
 Hard. If we should find him so but that's im- 
 possible. The first appearance has done my business. 
 I'm seldom deceived in that. 
 
 Miss Hard. And yet there may be many good 
 qualities under that first appearance. 
 
 Hard. Ay, when a girl finds a fellow's outside to 
 her taste, she then sets about guessing the rest of his 
 furniture. With her a smooth face stands for good 
 sense, and a genteel figure for every virtue. 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUEK. 58 
 
 Miss Hard. I hope, sir, a conversation begun with a 
 compliment to my good sense, won't end with a sneer 
 at my understanding. 
 
 Hard. Pardon me, Kate. But if young Mr. Brazen 
 can find the |irt of reconciling contradictions, he may 
 please us beth, perhaps. 
 
 Miss Hard. And as one of us must be mistaken, 
 what if we go to make further discoveries ? 
 
 Hard. But depend on't, I'm in the right. 
 
 Miss Hard. And depend on't, I'm not much in the 
 wrong. [_Exeunt. 
 
 Enter TONY running in with a casket. 
 Tony. Ecod, I have got them ! Here they are. My 
 cousin Con's necklaces, bobs, and all. My mother 
 shan't cheat the poor souls out of their fortin, neither. 
 . Oh ! niy genus, is that you ? 
 
 Enter HASTINGS. 
 
 Hast. My dear friend, how have you managed with 
 your mother ? I hope you have amused her with pre- 
 tending love for your cousin ; and that you are willing 
 to be reconciled at last. Our horses will be refreshed 
 in a short time, and we shall soon be ready to set off. 
 
 Tony. And here's something to bear your charges 
 by the way [giving the casket] your sweetheart's 
 jewels. Keep them ; and hang those, I say, that would 
 rob you of one of them. 
 
 Hast. But how have you procured them from your 
 mother ? 
 
 Tony. Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no fibs 
 
54 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 I procured them by the rule of thumb. If I had not a 
 key to every drawer in my mother's bureau, how could 
 I go to the alehouse so often as I do ? An honest man 
 may rob himself of his own at any time. 
 
 Hast. .Thousands do it every day. But to be plain 
 with you, Miss Neville is endeavouring to procure 
 them from her aunt this very instant. If she succeeds, 
 it will be the most delicate way at least of obtaining 
 them. 
 
 Tony. Well, keep them, till you know how it will 
 be. I know how it will be, well enough ; she'd as soon 
 part with the only sound tooth in her head. 
 
 Hast. But I dread the effects of her resentment, 
 when she finds she has lost them. 
 
 Tony. Never you mind her resentment, leave me 
 to manage that. I don't value her resentment the 
 bounce of a cracker. Zounds ! here they are. Morrice ! 
 Prance ! [Exit HASTINGS. 
 
 TONY, MRS. HARDCASTLE, Miss NEVILLE. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Indeed, Constance, you amaze me. Such 
 a girl as you want jewels ! It will be time enough for 
 jewels, my dear, twenty years hence ; when your beauty 
 begins to want repairs. 
 
 Miss Nev. But what will repair beauty at forty, 
 will certainly improve it at twenty, madam. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Yours, my dear, can admit of none. 
 That natural blush is beyond a thousand ornaments. 
 Besides, child, jewels are quite out at present. Don't 
 you see half the ladies of our acquaintance, my Lady 
 Kill-Daylight, and Mrs. Crump, and the rest of them, 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 55' 
 
 carry their jewels to town, and bring nothing but 
 paste and marcasites back ? 
 
 Miss Nev. But who knows, niadam, but somebody 
 that shall be nameless would like me best with all my 
 little finery about me ? 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Consult your glass, my dear, and then 
 see if, with such a pair of eyes, you want any better 
 sparklers. What do you think, Tony, my dear ? Does 
 your cousin Con want any jewels, in your eyes, to set 
 off her beauty ? 
 
 Tony. That's as thereafter may be. 
 Miss Nev. My dear aunt, if you knew how it would 
 oblige me. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. A parcel of old-fashioned rose and table- 
 cut things. They would make you look like the court 
 of King Solomon at a puppet-show. Besides, I believe 
 I can't readily come at them. They may be missing, 
 for aught I know to the contrary. 
 
 Tony. [Apart to MRS. HARDCASTLE.] Then why 
 don't you tell her so at once, as she's so longing for 
 them ? Tell her they're lost. It's the only way to 
 quiet her. Say they're lost, and call me to bear 
 witness. 
 
 -Mrs. Hard. [Apart to TONY.] You know, my dear, 
 I'm only keeping them for you. So, if I say they're 
 gone, you'll bear me witness, will you ? He ! he ! he ! 
 Tony. Never fear me. Ecod, I'll say I saw them 
 taken out with my own eyes. 
 
 Miss Nev. I desire them but for a day, madam. 
 Just to be permitted to show them as relics, and then 
 they may be locked up again. 
 
56 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. To be plain with you, my dear Con- 
 stance, if I could find them, you should have them. 
 They're missing, I assure you. Lost, for aught 
 I know; but we must have patience, wherever they 
 are. 
 
 Miss Nev. I'll not believe it ; this is but a shallow 
 pretence to deny me. I know they're too valuable to 
 be so slightly kept, and as you are to answer for the 
 loss 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Don't be alarmed, Constance ; if they be 
 lost, I must restore an equivalent. But my son knows 
 they are missing, and not to be found. 
 
 Tony. That I can bear witness to. They are missing, 
 and not to be found, I'll take my oath on't. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. You must learn resignation, my dear ; 
 for though we lose our fortune, yet we should not lose 
 our patience. See me, how calm I am. 
 
 Miss Nev. Ay, people are generally calm at the mis- 
 fortunes of others. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Now, I wonder a girl of your good 
 sense should waste a thought upon such trumpery. 
 We shall soon find them ; and, in the meantime, you 
 shall make use of my garnets, till your jewels be 
 found. 
 
 Miss Nev. I detest garnets ! 
 
 Mrs. Hard. The most becoming things in the world, 
 to set off a clear complexion. You have often seen 
 how well they look upon me. You shall have them. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Miss Nev. I dislike them of all things. [To TONY.] 
 You shan't stir. -Was ever anything so provoking ? 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER- 57 
 
 to mislay my own jewels, and force me to wear her 
 trumpery ! 
 
 Tony. Don't be a fool ! If she gives you the garnets, 
 take what you can get. The jewels are your own 
 already. I have stolen them out of her bureau, and 
 she does not know it. Fly to your spark, he'll tell you 
 more of the matter. Leave me to manage her, 
 
 Miss Nev. My dear cousin ! 
 
 Tony. Yanish ! She's here, and has missed them 
 already. [Exit Miss NEVILLE.] Zounds ! how she 
 fidgets, and spits about like a Catharine-wheel ! 
 
 Enter MRS. HARDCASTLE. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Confusion ! thieves ! robbers ! We are 
 cheated, plundered, broken open, undone ! 
 
 Tony. What's the matter ? what's the matter, 
 mamma ? I hope nothing has happened to any of the 
 good family ! 
 
 Mrs. Hard. We are robbed ! My bureau has been 
 broke open, the jewels taken out, and I'm undone ! 
 
 Tony. Oh ! is that all ? Ha ! ha ! ha ! By the 
 laws, I never saw it better acted in my life. Ecod, I 
 thought you was ruined in earnest. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Why, boy, I am ruined in earnest. My 
 bureau has been broke open, and all taken away. 
 
 Tony. Stick to tha.t ; ha ! ha ! ha ! stick to that ; 
 I'll bear witness, you know ; call me to bear witness. 
 
 Mrs.- Hard. I tell you, Tony, by all that's precious, 
 the jewels are gone, and I shall be ruined for ever. 
 
 Tony. Sure, I know they're gone, and I am to say 
 so. 
 
58 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. My dearest Tony, but hear me. They're 
 gone, I say. 
 
 Tony. By the laws, mamma, you make me for to 
 laugh ; ha ! ha ! I know who took them well enough ; 
 ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Was there ever such a blockhead, that 
 can't tell the difference between jest and earnest ? I 
 tell you I'm not in jest, booby ! 
 
 Tony. That's right, that's right. You must be in a 
 bitter passion, and then nobody will suspect either of 
 us. I'll bear witness that they are gone. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Was there ever such a cross-grained 
 brute, that won't hear me ! Can you bear witness that 
 you're no better than a fool ? Was ever poor woman 
 so beset with fools on one hand, and thieves on the 
 other? 
 
 Tony. I can bear witness to that. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Bear witness again, you blockhead, 
 you ; and I'll turn you out of the room directlv. My 
 poor niece ! what will become of her ? Do you laugh, 
 you unfeeling brute, as if you enjoyed my distress ? ' 
 
 Tony. I can bear witness to that. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Do you insult me, monster ? I'll teach 
 you to vex your mother, I will. 
 
 Tony. I can bear witness to that. 
 
 [He runs off, she follows him. 
 
 Enter Miss KARDCASTLE and MAID. 
 Miss Hard. What an unaccountable creature" is that 
 brother of mine, to send them to the house as an inn ; 
 ha ! ha ! I don't wonder at his impudence, 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 59 
 
 Maid. But what is more, madam, the young gentle- 
 man, as you passed by in your present dress, asked nie 
 if you were the barmaid ? He mistook you for the 
 barmaid, madam. * 
 
 Miss Hard. Did he ? Then, as I live, I am resolved 
 to keep up the delusion. Tell me, Pimple, how do you 
 like my present dress ? Don't you think I look some- 
 thing like Cherry in the " Beaux' Stratagem ? " 
 
 Maid. It's the dress, madam, that every lady wears 
 in the country, but when she visits or receives com- 
 pany. 
 
 Miss Hard. And are you sure he does not remember 
 my face or person ? 
 
 Maid. Certain of it. 
 
 Miss Hard. I vow, I thought so ; for though we 
 spoke for some time together, yet his fears were such, 
 that he never once looked up during the interview. 
 Indeed, if he had, my bonnet would have kept him 
 fiom seeing me. 
 
 Maid. But what do you hope from keeping him in 
 his mistake ? 
 
 Miss Hard. In the first place, I shall be seen, and 
 that is no small advantage to a girl who brings her 
 face to market. Then I shall, perhaps, make an ac- 
 quaintance, and that's no small victory gained over 
 one who never addresses any but the wildest of her 
 sex. But my chief aim is to take my gentleman 
 off his guard, and, like an invisible champion of 
 romance, examine the giant's force before I offer to 
 combat. 
 
 Maid. But are you sure you can act your part, and 
 
60 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 disguise your voice, so that he may mistake that, as he 
 lias already mistaken your person ? 
 
 Miss Hard. Never fear me. I think I have got th-5 
 true bar cant. Did your honour ' call ? Attend th 
 Lion there. Pipes and tobacco for the Angel. The 
 Lamb has been outrageous this half-hour. 
 
 Moid. It will do, madam. But he's here. 
 
 [Exit Maid. 
 
 Enter MAKLOW. 
 
 Marl. What a bawling in every part of the house ! 
 I have scarce a moment's repose. If I go to the best 
 room, there I find my host and his story. If I fly to 
 the gallery, there we have my hostess, with her curtsey 
 down to the ground. I have at last got a moment to 
 myself, and now for recollection. [ Walks and muses. 
 
 Miss Hard. Did you call, sir ? did your honour 
 call? 
 
 Marl. [Musing.'] As for Miss Hardcastle, she's too 
 grave and sentimental for me. 
 
 Miss Hard. Did your honour call ? 
 
 [She still places herself before him, he turning away. 
 
 Marl. No, child. [Musing.~] Besides, from the 
 glimpse I had of her, I think she squints. 
 
 Miss Hard. I'm sure, sir, I heard the bell ring. 
 
 Marl. No, no. [Musing.'] I have pleased my father, 
 however, by coming down, and I'll to-morrow please 
 myself by returning. 
 
 [Taking out his tablets, and perusing. 
 
 Miss Hard. Perhaps the other gentleman called, 
 sir. 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 61 
 
 Marl. 1 tell you, no. 
 
 Miss Hard. I should be glad to know, sir. We 
 mve such a parcel of servants. 
 
 Marl. No, no, I tell you. [Looks full in her face.'] 
 Yes, child, I think I did call. I wanted I wanted I 
 vow, child, you are vastly handsome. 
 
 Miss Hard. Oh ! la, sir, you'll make one ashamed. 
 
 Marl. Never saw a more sprightly, malicious eye. 
 Yes, yes, my dear, I did call. Have you got any of 
 your a what d'ye call it, in the house ? 
 
 Miss Hard. No, sir, we have been out of that these 
 ten days. 
 
 Marl. One may call in this house, I find, to very 
 little purpose. Suppose I should call for a taste, just 
 by way of trial, of the nectar of your lips ; perhaps I 
 might be disappointed in that, too. 
 
 Miss Hard. Nectar ! nectar ! that's a liquor there's 
 
 ) call for in these parts. French, I suppose. We 
 keep no French wines here, sir. 
 
 Marl. Of true English growth, I assure you. 
 
 Miss Hard. Then it's odd I should not kiiow_it : 
 We brew all sorts of wines in this house, and I have 
 here these eighteen years. 
 
 Marl. Eighteen years ? Why, one would think, 
 child, you kept i?he bar before you were born. How 
 old are you ? 
 
 Miss Hard. Oh, sir, I must not tell my age ! They 
 say women and music should never be dated. 
 
 Marl. To guess at this distance, you can't be 
 much above forty. [Approaching. ~\ Yet nearer, I 
 don't think so much. [Approaching.] By coming 
 
62 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 close to some women, they look younger still ; but 
 
 when we come very close indeed 
 
 [Attempting to kiss her. 
 
 Miss Hard. Pray, sir, keep your distance. One 
 would think you wanted to know one's age as they do 
 horses', by mark of mouth. 
 
 Marl. I protest, child, you use me extremely ill. If 
 you keep me at this distance, how is it possible you 
 and I can be ever acquainted ? 
 
 Miss Hard. And who wants to be acquainted with 
 you P I want no such acquaintance, not I. I'm sure 
 you did not treat Miss Hardcastle, that was here a 
 while ago, in this obstropalous manner. I'll warrant 
 me, before her you looked dashed, and kept bowing to 
 the ground, and talked, for all the world, as if you 
 was before a justice of peace. 
 
 Marl. [Aside. ~\ Egad ! she has hit it, sure enough. 
 [To her.'] In awe of her, child? Ha! ha! ha! A 
 mere awkward, squinting thing ; no, no. J find you 
 don't know me. I laughed, and rallied her a little ; 
 but I was unwilling to be too severe. No, I could not 
 be too severe. 
 
 Miss Hard. Oh ! then, sir, you are a favourite, I 
 find, among the ladies. 
 
 Marl. Yes, my dear, a great favourite. And yet, 
 hang me, I don't see what they find in me . to follow. 
 At the ladies' club in town, I'm called their agreeable 
 Eattle. Rattle, child, is not my real name, but one 
 I'm known by. My name is Solomons. Mr. Solomons, 
 my dear, at your service. [Offering to salute^her. 
 
 Miss Hard. Hold, sir,- you were introducing me to 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 63 
 
 jour club, not to yourself. And you're so great a 
 favourite there, you say ? 
 
 Marl. Yes, my dear; there's Mrs. Mantrap, Lady 
 Betty Blackleg, the Countess of Sligo, Mrs. Lang- 
 horns, old Miss Biddy Buckskin, and your huinl>le 
 servant, keep up the spirit of the place. 
 
 Miss Hard. Then it's a very merry place, I 
 suppose. 
 
 Marl. Yes, as merry as cards, suppers, wine, and old 
 women can make us. 
 
 Miss Hard. And their agreeable Rattle ; ha ! ha ! 
 ha! 
 
 Marl. [Aside] Indeed ! I don't quite like this chit. 
 She looks knowing, niethinks. [To her.] You laugh, 
 child! 
 
 Miss Hard. I can't but laugh to think what time 
 they all have for minding their work or their family. 
 
 Marl. [Aside."] All's well, she don't laugh at me. 
 [To her.] Do you ever work, child ? 
 
 Miss Hard. Ay, sure. There's not a screen or a 
 quilt in the whole house but what can bear witness to 
 that. 
 
 Marl. Odso ! Then you must show me your em- 
 broidery. I embroider, and draw patterns myself a 
 little. If you want a judge of your work, you must 
 apply to me. [Seizing her hand. 
 
 Miss Hard. Ay, but the colours don't look well by 
 candle-light. You shall see all in the morning. 
 
 [Struggling. 
 
 Marl. And why not now, my angel ? Such beauty 
 fires beyond the power of resistance. Pshaw ! the 
 
64 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 father here ! My old luck ! I never nicked seven, 
 that I did not throw anies-ace three times following. 
 
 [Exit MARLOW. 
 
 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 adored at humble 
 distance. Kate, Kate ! art thou not ashamed 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 con- 
 vinced of it as well as I. 
 
 Hard. By the hand of my body, I believe his impu- 
 dence is infectious ! Didn't I see him seize your hand? 
 didn't I see him haul you about like a milkmaid ? 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. 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUES. 65 
 
 Miss Hard. Give me that hour, then, and I hope to 
 satisfy yo . 
 
 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. 1 hope, sir, you have ever found that I 
 considered your commands as my pride ; for your kind- 
 ness is such that my duty as yet has been inclination. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IY. 
 SCENE I. Enter HASTINGS and Miss NEVILLE. 
 
 Hast. You surprise me ! Sir Charles Marlow ex- 
 pected here this night? Where have you had your 
 information ? 
 
 Miss Nev. You may depend upon it. I just saw his 
 letter to Mr. Hardcastle^ in which he tells him he in- 
 tends 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 ef our baggage. In the meantime, 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 farther 
 directions. , [Exit. 
 
 1 9 
 
66 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 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. [Exit. 
 
 Enter MARLOW, folloived by a SERVANT. 
 
 Marl. I wonder what Hastings could mean by send- 
 ing 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. 
 
 Marl. She said she'd keep it safe, did she ? 
 
 Serv. Yes, she said she'd keep it safe enough ; she 
 asked me how I came by it, and she said she had a 
 great mind to make me give An account of myself. 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 
 Marl. Ha ! ha ! ha ! They're safe, however. What 
 an unaccountable set of beings have we got amongst ! 
 This little barmaid, 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 I in- 
 tended to prepare at the bottom of the garden. Marlow 
 here, and in spirits, too ! 
 
 Marl. Give me joy, George ! Crown me, shadow 
 me with laurels ! Well, George, after all, we modest 
 fellows don't want for success among the women. 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 67 
 
 Hast. Some women, you mea i. But what success 
 has your honour's modesty beeu crowned with now, 
 that it grows so insolent upon us ? 
 
 Marl. 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 ? 
 
 Marl. She's mine, you rogue you. Such fire, such 
 motion, such eyes, such lips bv.t, egad ! she would not 
 let me kiss them, though. 
 
 Hast. But are you so sure, so very sure of her? 
 
 Marl. Why, man, she talked of showing me her 
 work above stairs, and I'm to improve the pattefti. 
 
 Hast. You have taken care, I hopb, of the casket I 
 sent you to lock up ? It's in safety ? 
 
 Marl. Yes, yes ; 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 ! numskull ! 
 I have taken better precautions for you than you did 
 for yourself. I have 
 
 Hast. What? 
 
 Marl. I have sent it to the lai idlady to keep for you. 
 
 Hast. To the landlady !. ' 
 
 Marl. The landlady. 
 
 Hast. You did! 
 
 Marl. I did. She's to be a? swerable for its forth- 
 coming, you know. 
 
 Hast. Yes, she'll bring it forA, with a witness. 
 
 Marl. Wasn't I right r I beli x ?ve you'll allow that I 
 acted prudently upon this occasio "n, 
 
 Hast. [Aside.'] He must not se e oiy uneasiness. 
 
68 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 Marl. You seem a little disconcerted, though, me- 
 thinks. 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 ? 
 
 Marl. Hather too readily. For she not only kept 
 the casket ; but, through her great precaution, was 
 going to keep the messenger too. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Hast. He ! he ! he ! They are safe, however. 
 
 Marl. 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 the 
 pretty barmaid ; and, he ! he ! he ! may you be as 
 successful for yourself, as you have been for me ! [Exit. 
 
 Marl. Thank ye, George \ 
 , \ 
 
 Enter HARDCASTLE. 
 
 Hard. I no longer k now my own house. It's turned, 
 all topsy-turvy. His s ervants have got drunk already. 
 I'll bear it no longer ; and yet, for my respect for his 
 father, I'll be calm. ['.To him.~\ Mr. Mario \Y, your ser- 
 vant. I'm your very humble servant. [Sowing low. 
 
 Marl. Sir, your humble servant. [Aside.'] What's to 
 be the wonder now ? i 
 
 Hard. I believe, sir^ you must be sensible, sir, that 
 no man alive ought ^ o be more welcome than your 
 father's son, sir. I hclpe you think so. 
 
 Marl. I do, from ij iy soul, sir. I don't want much 
 entreaty. I generally make niy father's son welcome 
 wherever he goes. 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 69 
 
 Hard. I believe you do, from my soul, sir. But 
 though I say nothing to your own conduct, that of your 
 servants is insufferable. Their manner of drinking is 
 setting a very bad example in this house, I assure 
 you. 
 
 Marl. I protest, my very good sir, that's no fault of 
 mine. If they don't drink as they ought, they are to 
 blame. I ordered them not to spare the cellar : I did, 
 I assure you. [To the side scene.~\ Here, let one of 
 my servants come up. [To him.] My positive direc- 
 tions were, that as I did not drink myself, they should 
 make up for my deficiencies below. 
 
 Hard. Then, they had your orders for what they do ! 
 I'm satisfied. 
 
 Marl. They had, I assure you. You shall hear from 
 one of themselves. 
 
 Enter SERVANT, drunk. 
 
 Marl. You, Jeremy ! Come forward, sirrah ! What 
 were my orders ? Were you not told to drink freely, 
 and call for what you thought fit, for the good of the 
 house ? 
 
 Hard. [Aside.'] I begin to lose my patience. 
 
 Jeremy. Please your honour, liberty and Fleet Street 
 for ever ! Though I'm but a servant, I'm as good as 
 another man. I'll drink for no man before supper, 
 sir ! Good liquor will sit upon a good supper ; but a 
 good supper will not sit upon [hiccup] upon niy 
 conscience, sir. 
 
 Marl. You see, my old friend, the fellow is as drunk 
 as he can possibly be. I don't know what you'd have 
 
70 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 more, unless you'd have the poor fellow soused in a 
 beer-lbarrel. 
 
 Hard. Zounds ! He'll drive me distracted if I 
 contain myself any longer. [Aside."] Mr. Marlow, 
 sir ; I have submitted to your insolence for more than 
 four hours, and I see no likelihood of its coming to an 
 end. I'm now resolved to be master here, sir ; and 1 
 desire that you and your drunken pack may leave my 
 house directly. 
 
 Marl. Leave your house ? Sure you jest, my good 
 friend ! What ! when I'm doing what I can to please 
 you? 
 
 Hard. I tell you, sir, you don't please me; so I 
 desire you'll leave my house. 
 
 Marl. Sure you cannot be serious! At this time 
 o' night, and such a night ! You only mean to banter 
 me, 
 
 Hard. I tell you, sir, I'm serious; and, now that 
 my passions are roused, I say this house is mine, sir ; 
 this house is mine, and I command you to leave it 
 directly ! 
 
 Marl. Ha ! ha ! ha ! A puddle in a storm. I shan't 
 stir a step, I assure you. [In a serious tone.'] This 
 your house, fellow ! It's my house. This is my house. 
 Mine, while I choose to stay. What right have you to 
 bid me leave this house, sir ? I never met with such 
 impudence, never in my whole life before. 
 
 Hard. Nor I, confound me if ever I did. To come 
 to my house, to call for what he likes, to turn me out 
 of my own chair, to insult the family, to order his 
 servants to get drunk, and then to tell me, This house 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQTJEB. 71 
 
 is mine, sir. By all that's impudent, it makes me 
 laugh. Ha ! ha ! Pray, sir [bantering'], as you take 
 the house, what think you of taking the rest of the 
 furniture ? There's a pair of silver candlesticks, and 
 there's a fire-screen, and here's a pair of brazen-nosed 
 bellows perhaps you may take a fancy to them. 
 
 Marl. Bring me your bill, sir ; bring me your bill, 
 and let's make no more words about it. 
 
 Hard. There are a set of prints, too. What think 
 you of the " Rake's Progress " for your own apart- 
 ment? 
 
 Marl. Bring me your bill, I say ; and I'll leave you 
 and your house directly. 
 
 Hard. Then there's a mahogany table, that you may 
 see your own face in. 
 
 Marl. My bill, I say. 
 
 Hard. I had forgot the great chair, for your own 
 particular slumbers, after a hearty meal. 
 
 Marl. Zounds I bring me my bill, I say ; and let's 
 hear no more on't. 
 
 Hard. Young man, young man, from your father's 
 letter to me, I was taught to expect a well-bred, modest 
 man as a visitor here ; but now I find him no better 
 than a coxcomb, and a bully. But he will be down 
 here presently, and shall hear more of it. [Exit. 
 
 Marl. How's this? Sure I have not mistaken the 
 house ! Everything looks like an inn. The servants 
 cry, Coming. The attendance is awkward; the bar- 
 maid, too, to attend us. But she's here, and will 
 further inform me. Whither so fast, child ? A worrl 
 with you. 
 
72 SHE STOOPS TO CONQTJEB. 
 
 Enter Miss HARDCASTLE. 
 
 Miss Hard. Let it be short, then. I'm in a hurry. 
 [Aside."] I believe he begins to find out his mistake ; 
 but it's too soon quite to undeceive him. 
 
 Marl. Pray, child, answer me one question. What 
 are you, and what may your business in this house be ? 
 
 Miss Hard. A relation of the family, sir. 
 
 Marl. What ! a poor relation ? 
 
 Miss Hard. Yes, sir ; a poor relation, appointed to 
 keep the keys, and to see that the guests want nothing 
 in my power to give them. 
 
 Marl. That is, you act as the barmaid of this inn. 
 
 Miss Hard. Inn ! Oh, la ! What brought that in 
 your head ? One of the best families in the country 
 keep an inn ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! old Mr. Hardcastle's 
 house an inn ! 
 
 Marl. Mr. Hardcastle's house! Is this house Mr. 
 Hardcastle's house, child ?' 
 
 Miss Hard. Ay, sure. Whose else should it be ? 
 
 Marl. So then all's out, and I have been imposed on. 
 Oh, confound my stupid head ! I shall be laughed at 
 over the whole town. I shall be stuck up in caricatura 
 in all the print shops ; the Dullissimo Maccaroni. To 
 mistake this house, of all others, for an inn ; and my 
 father's old friend for an innkeeper ! What a swagger- 
 ing puppy must he take me for ! What a silly puppy 
 do I find myself ! There again, may I be hanged, my 
 dear, but I mistook you for the barmaid. 
 
 Miss Hard. Dear me ! dear me ! I'm sure there's 
 nothing in my behaviour to put me upon a level with 
 Qne of that stamp. 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 73 
 
 Marl. Nothing, my dear, nothing. But I was in for 
 a list of blunders, and could not help making you a 
 subscriber. My stupidity saw everything the wrong 
 way. I mistook your assiduity for assurance, and your 
 simplicity for allurement. But it's over. This house 
 L no more show my face in. 
 
 Miss Hard. I hope, sir, I have done nothing to 
 disoblige you. I'm sure I should be sorry to affront 
 any gentleman who has been so polite, and said so 
 many civil things to me. I'm sure I should be sorry 
 [pretending to cry'] if he left the family upon my 
 account. I'm sure I should be sorry, people said 
 anything amiss, since I have no fortune but my 
 character. 
 
 Marl. [Aside. '\ By Heaven, she weeps. This is the 
 first mark of tenderness I ever had from a modest 
 woman, and it touches me. [To her.~] Excuse me, 
 my lovely girl, you are the only part of the family I 
 leave with reluctance. But to be plain with you, the 
 difference of our birth, fortune, and education, make 
 an honourable connection impossible ; and I can never 
 harbour a thought of bringing ruin upon one whose 
 only fault was being too lovely. 
 
 Miss Hard. [Aside.'] Grenerous man ! I now begin 
 to admire him. [To hiin.~] But I'm sure my family 
 is as good as Mr. Hardcastle's ; and though I'm poor, 
 that's 110 great misfortune to a contented mind; and 
 until this moment, I never thought that it was bad to 
 want fortune. 
 
 Marl. And why now, my pretty simplicity ? 
 
 Miss Hard. Because it puts me at a distance from 
 c 19 
 
jfmy av 
 
 '/ W ere I 
 f j choice. 
 
 74 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 one, that if I had a thousand pound, I would give it 
 all to. 
 
 Marl. [Aside.'] This simplicity bewitches me so, 
 that if I stay I'm undone. I must make one bold 
 effort, and leave her. [To her.~\ Your partiality in 
 ffmy favour, my dear, touches me most sensibly; and 
 ) live for myself alone, I could easily fix my 
 But I owe too much to the opinion of the 
 world, too much to the authority of a father, so that 
 i ff I can scarcely speak it it affect? me. Farewell. 
 
 r [Exit. 
 
 Miss Hard. I never knew half his merit till now. 
 
 He shall not go, if I have power or art to detain him. 
 
 I'll still preserve the character in which I stooped to 
 VI conquers but will undeceive my papa, who, perhaps, 
 \r may laugh him out of his resolution. [Exit. 
 
 Enter TONY, Miss NEVILLE. 
 
 Tony. Ay, you may steal for yourselves the next 
 time. I have done my duty. She has got the jewels 
 again, that's a sure thing ; but she believes it was all a 
 mistake of the servants. 
 
 Miss Nev. But, my dear cousin, sure you won't 
 forsake us in this distress. If she in the least suspects 
 that I'm going off, I shall certainly be locked up, or 
 sent to my Aunt Pedigree's, which is ten times 
 worse. 
 
 Tony. To be sure, aunts of all kinds are bad things ; 
 but what can I do? I have got you a pair of horses 
 that will fly like Whistle-jacket, and I'm sure you can't 
 say but I have courted you nicely before her face 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 75 
 
 Here she comes ; we must court a bit or two more, for 
 fear she should suspect us. 
 
 [They retire and seem to fondle. 
 
 Enter MBS. HARDCASTLE. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Well, I was greatly fluttered, to be sure. 
 But my son tells me it was all a mistake of the 
 servants. I shan't be easy, however, till they are 
 fairly married, and then let her keep her own fortune. 
 But what do I see ? Fondling together, as I'm alive. 
 I never saw Tony so sprightly before. Ah ! have I 
 caught you, my pretty doves ? What ! billing, ex- 
 changing stolen glances, and broken murmurs ? Ah ! 
 
 Tony. As for murmurs, mother, we grumble a little, 
 now and then, to be sure. But there's no love lost 
 between us. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. A mere sprinkling, Tony, upon the flame, 
 only to make it burn brighter. 
 
 Miss Nev. Cousin Tony promises to give us more of 
 his company at home. Indeed, he shan't leave us any 
 more. It won't leave us, Cousin Tony, will it ? 
 
 Tony. Oh ! it's a pretty creature. No, I'd sooner 
 leave my horse in a pound, than leave you, when you 
 smile upon one so. Your laugh makes you so 
 becoming. 
 
 Miss Nev. Agreeable cousin ! Who can help admir- 
 ing that natural humour, that pleasant, broad, red, 
 thoughtless [patting his cheek], ah ! it's a bold face. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Pretty innocence ! 
 
 Tony. I'm sure I always loved Cousin Con's hazel 
 eyes, and her pretty long fingers, that she twists this 
 
76 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 way and that, over the haspicholls, like a parcel of 
 bobbins 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Ah ! he would charm the bird from the 
 tree. I was never so happy before. My boy takes 
 after his father, poor Mr. Lumpkin, exactly. The 
 jewels, my dear Con, shall be yours incontinently 
 You shall have them. Isn't he a sweet boy, my dear P 
 You shall be married to-morrow, and we'll put off the 
 of his education, like Mr. Drowsy's sermons, to a 
 fitter opportunity. 
 
 Enter DIGGORY. 
 
 Digg. Where's the 'squire ? I have got a letter for 
 your worship. 
 
 Tony. Give it to my mamma. She reads all my 
 letters first. 
 
 Digg. I had orders to deliver it into your own 
 hands. 
 
 Tony. Who does it come from ? 
 
 Digg. Your worship mun ask that o' the letter 
 itself. 
 
 Tony. I could wish to know though. [Turning the 
 letter and gazing on it.~\ 
 
 Miss Nev. [Aside.'] Undone, undone ! A letter to 
 him from Hastings. I know the hand. If my aunt 
 sees it, we are ruined for ever. I'll keep her employed 
 a little, if I can. [To MRS. HARDCASTLE.] But I 
 have not told you, madam, of my cousin's smart answer 
 just now to Mr. Marlow. We so laughed. You must 
 know, madam this way a little ; for he must not hear 
 vis, [They confer.'] 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 77 
 
 Tony. [Still gazing.'] A - - cramp piece of pen- 
 manship, as ever I saw in my life. I can read your 
 print hand very well. But here there are such handles, 
 and shanks, and dashes, that one can scarce tell the 
 head from the tail. "To Anthony Lumpkin, Esq." 
 It's very odd, I can read the outside of my letters, 
 where my own name is, well enough, But when I 
 come to open it, it is all buzz. That's hard, very 
 hard ; for the inside of the letter is always the cream 
 of the correspondence. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Ha ! ha ! ha! Yery well, very well. 
 And so my son was too hard for the philosopher. 
 
 Miss Nev. Yes, madam ; but you must hear the rest, 
 madam. A little more this way, or he may hear us. 
 You'll hear how he puzzled him again. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. He seems strangely puzzled now himself, 
 methinks. 
 
 Tony [Still gazing.~] An up and down hand, as if it 
 was disguised in liquor. [Reading. ~] "Dear Sir." 
 Ay, that's that. Then there's an M, and a T, and a 
 8 ; but whether the next be izzard or an R, confound 
 me, I cannot tell. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. What's that, my dear? Can I give 
 you any assistance ? 
 
 Miss Nev. Pray, aunt, let me read it. Nobody reads 
 a cramp hand better than I . [ Tw it ching the letter from 
 him.'] Do you know who it is from ? 
 
 Tony. Can't tell, except from Dick Ginger, the 
 feeder. 
 
 Miss Nev. Ay, so it is. [Pretending to redd.~\ 
 " Dear 'Squire, Hoping that you're in health, as T am 
 
78 HE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 at this present. The gentlemen of the Shake-bag club 
 has cut the gentleman of the Goose-green quite out of 
 feather. The odds um odd battle nm long fight- 
 ing um " Here, here ; it's all about cocks and 
 fighting ; it's of no consequence ; here, put it up, put it 
 up. [Thrusting the crumpled letter upon him.'] 
 
 Tony. But I jtell you, miss, it's of all the consequence 
 in the world. I would not lose the rest of it for a 
 guinea. Here, mother, do you make it out. Of no 
 consequence ! [Giving MRS. HARDCASTLE the letter'} 
 
 Mrs. Hard. How's this P (Reads.) 
 
 Dear 'Squire, I'm now waiting for Miss Neville, with a 
 post-chaise and pair, at the bottom of the garden, but I find 
 my horses yet unable to perform the journey. I expect you'll 
 assist us with a pair of fresh horses, as you promised. Dispatch 
 is necessary, as the hag [ay, the hag], your mother, will other- 
 wise suspect us. Yours, HASTINGS. 
 
 Grant me patience ! I shall run distracted. My rage 
 chokes me ! 
 
 Miss Nev. I hope, madam, you'll suspend your 
 ' resentment for a few moments, and not impute to me 
 any impertinence, or sinister design that belongs to 
 another. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. [Curtseying very low.'] Fine spoken 
 madam, you are most miraculously polite and engaging, 
 and quite the very pink of courtesy and circumspec- 
 tion, madam. [Changing her tonej] And you, you 
 great ill-fashioned oaf, with scarce sense enough to 
 keep your mouth shut ! were you, too, joined against 
 me ? But I'll defeat all your plots in a moment. As 
 for you, madam, since you have got a pair of fresh 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 79 
 
 horses ready, it would be cruel to disappoint them. 
 So, if you please, instead of running away with your 
 spark, prepare, this very moment, to run off with me. 
 Your old Aunt Pedigree will keep you secure, I'll 
 warrant me. You too, sir, may mount your horse, and 
 guard us upon the way. Here, Thomas, Roger, Diggory, 
 I'll show you that I wish you better than you do your- 
 selves. [Exit, 
 
 Miss Nev. So now I'm completely ruined. 
 
 Tony. Ay, that's a sure thing. 
 
 Miss Nev. What better could be expected, from being 
 connected with such a stupid fool, and after all the 
 nods and signs I made him ? 
 
 Tony. By the laws, miss, it was your own cleverness, 
 and not my stupidity, that did your business. You 
 were so nice, and so busy, with your Shake-bags and 
 G oose-greens, that I thought you could never be making 
 believe. 
 
 Enter HASTINGS. 
 
 Hast. So, sir, I find by my servant that you have 
 shown my letter and betrayed us. Was this well done, 
 young gentleman ? 
 
 Tony. Here's another. Ask miss, there, who 
 betrayed you. Ecod, it was her doing, not mine. 
 
 Enter MAKLOW. 
 
 Marl. So, I have been finely used here among you. 
 Rendered contemptible, driven into ill manners, des- 
 pised, insulted, laughed at. 
 
 Tony. Here's another. We shall have old Bedlam 
 broke loose presently. 
 
80 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 yte 
 
 Miss Nev. And there, sir, is the gentleman to whom 
 we all owe every obligation. 
 
 /"" Marl. What can I say to him, a mere boy, an idiot, 
 whose ignorance and age are a protection ? 
 
 Hast. A poor contemptible booby, that would but 
 disgrace correction. 
 
 Miss Nev. Yet with cunning and malice enough to 
 make himself merry with all our embarrassments. 
 
 Hast. An insensible cub ! 
 
 Marl. Replete with tricks and mischief. 
 
 Tony. Baw ! but I'll fight you both, one after the 
 other with baskets. 
 
 Marl. As for him, he's below resentment. But your 
 conduct, Mr. Hastings, requires an explanation. You 
 knew of my mistakes, yet would not undeceive me. 
 
 Hast* Tortured as I am with my own disappoint- 
 ments, is this a time for explanations? It is not 
 friendly, Mr. Mario w. 
 
 Marl. But, sir 
 
 Miss. Nev. Mr. Marlow, we never kept on your 
 mistake, till it was too late to undeceive you. Be 
 pacified. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. My mistress desires you'll get ready im- 
 mediately, madam. The horses are putting to. Your 
 hat and things are in the next room. We are to go 
 thirty miles before morning. [Exit Servant. 
 
 Miss. Nev. Well, well ; I'll come presently. 
 
 Marl. [To HASTINGS.] Was it well done, sir, to 
 assist in rendering me ridiculous? To hang me out 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 81 
 
 for the scorn of all my acquaintance ? Depend npon 
 it, sir, I shall expect an explanation. 
 
 Hast. Was it well done, sir, if you're upon 'hat 
 subject, to deliver what I entrusted to yourself to the 
 care of another, sir ? 
 
 Miss Nev. Mr. Hastings, Mr. Mario w. why will you 
 increase my distress by this groundless dispute. I 
 implore, I entreat you 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. Your cloak, madam. My mistress is im- 
 patient. 
 
 Miss Nev. I come. Pray be pacified. If I leave 
 you thus, I shall die with apprehension. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 , Serv. Your fan, muff, and gloves, madam. The 
 horses are waiting. 
 
 Miss Nev. Oh, Mr. Mario w ! if you knew what a 
 scene of constraint and ill-nature lies before me, I'm 
 sure it would convert your resentment into pity. 
 
 Marl. I'm so distracted with a variety of passions, 
 that I don't know what I do. Forgive me, madam. 
 
 George, forgive me. You know my hasty temper, 
 and should not exasperate it. 
 
 Hast. The torture of my situation is my only 
 excuse. 
 
 Miss Nev. Well, my dear Hastings, if you have 
 that esteem for me that I think, that I am sure you 
 have, your constancy for three years will but increase 
 the happiness of our future connection. If 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQ.UER. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. [Within."] Miss Neville. Constance, 
 why, Constance, I say. 
 
 Miss Nev. I'm coming. Well, constancy. K/e- 
 mer^her, constancy is the word. [Exit. 
 
 H st. My heart, how can I support this ! To be so 
 near ha,ppiness, and such happiness ! 
 
 Marl. [To TONY.] You see now, young gentleman, 
 the effects of your folly. What might be amusement 
 to you, is here disappointment, and even distress. 
 
 Tony. [From a reverie^] Ecod, I have hit it. It's 
 here. Your hands. Yours and yours, my poor sulky. 
 My boots there, ho ! Meet me two hours hence at the 
 "bottom of the garden; and if you don't find Tony 
 Lumpkin a more good-natured fellow than you thought 
 for, I'll give you leave to take my best horse, and Bet 
 Bouncer into the bargain. Come along. My boots,, 
 ho i [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCENE I. Scene continues. 
 Enter HASTINGS and SERVANT. 
 
 Hast. You saw the old lady and Miss Neville drive 
 off, you say ? 
 
 Serv, Yes, your honour; they went off in a post- 
 coach, and the young 'squire went on horseback. 
 They're thirty miles off by this time. 
 
 Hast. Then all my hopes are over. 
 
 Serv. Yes, sir. Old Sir Charles is arrived. He and 
 the old gentleman of the house have been laughing at 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 83 
 
 Mr. Marlow's mistake this half-hour. Th'v are 
 coining this way. 
 
 Hast. Then I must not be seen. So now to my 
 fruitless appointment at the bottom of the garden. 
 This is about the time. [Exit, 
 
 Enter SIR CHARLES and HARDCASTLE. 
 
 Hard. Ha ! ha ! ha ! The peremptory tone in which 
 he sent forth his sublime commands ! 
 
 Sir Charles. And the reserve with which I suppose 
 he treated all your advances ! 
 
 Hard. And yet he might have seen something io 
 me above a common innkeeper, too. 
 
 Sir Charles. Yes, Dick, but he mistook you for an 
 uncommon innkeeper, ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Hard. Well, I'm in too good spirits to think of any- 
 thing but joy. Yes, my dear friend this union of our 
 families will make our personal friendships hereditary ; 
 and though my daughter's fortune is but small 
 
 Sir Charles. Why,, Dick, will you talk of fortune to 
 me ? My son is possessed of more than a competence 
 already, and can want nothing but a good and virtu- 
 ous girl to share his happiness and increase it, If 
 they like each other, as you say they do 
 
 Hard. If, man ! I tell you they do like each other. 
 My daughter as good as told me so. 
 
 Sir Charles. But girls are apt to flatter themselves, 
 you know. 
 
 Hard. I saw him grasp her hand in the warmest 
 manner myself ; and here he comes, to put you out of 
 your if s, I warrant him. 
 
84 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 Enter MARLOW. 
 
 Marl. 1 come, sir, once more, to ask pardon for my 
 strange conduct. I can scarce reflect on my insolence 
 without cmfusion. 
 
 Hard. Tut, boy, a trifle. You take it too gravely. 
 An hour or two's laughing with my daughter will set 
 all to rights again. She'll never like you the worse 
 for it. 
 
 Marl. Sir, I shall be always proud of her approba- 
 tion. 
 
 Hard. Approbation is but a cold word, Mr. Marlow : 
 if I am not deceived, you have something more than 
 approbation thereabouts. You take me ? 
 
 Marl. Really, sir, I have not that happiness. 
 
 Hard. Come, boy, I'm an old fellow, and know 
 what's what, as well as you that are younger. I know 
 what has passed between you ; but mum. 
 
 Marl. Sure, sir, nothing has passed between us, but 
 the most profound respect on my side, and the most 
 distant reserve on hers. You don't think, sir, that 
 my impudence has been passed upon all the rest of the 
 family ? 
 
 Hard. Impudence ! No, I don't say that. Not 
 quite impudence. Though girls like to be played with, 
 and rumpled a little too, sometimes. But she has 
 told no tales, I assure you. 
 
 Marl. I never gave her the slightest cause. 
 
 Hard. Well, well, I like modesty in its place well 
 enough. But this is over-acting, young gentleman. 
 You may be open. Your father and I will like you 
 the better for it. 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUE1 85 
 
 Marl. May I die, sir, if I ever 
 
 Hard. I tell you, she don't dislike you ; and as I'm 
 sure you like her 
 
 Marl. Dear sir I protest, sir 
 
 Hard. I see no reason why you should not be joined 
 as fast as the parson can tie you. 
 
 Marl. But hear rue, sir 
 
 Hard. Your father approves the match. I admire it, 
 every moment's delay will be doing mischief, so 
 
 Marl. But why won't you hear me ? By all that's 
 just and true, I never gave Miss Hardcastle the 
 slightest mark of my attachment, or even the most 
 distant hint to suspect me of affection. We had but 
 one interview, and that was formal, modest, and un- 
 interesting. 
 
 Hard. [Aside.] This fellow's formal, modest impu- 
 dence is beyond bearing. 
 
 Sir Charles. And you never grasped her hand, or 
 made any protestations ? 
 
 Marl. As Heaven is my witness, I came down in 
 obedience to your commands. I saw the lady without 
 emotion, and parted without reluctance. I hope you'll 
 exact no further proofs of my duty, nor prevent me 
 from leaving a house in which I suffer so many morti- 
 fications. [Exit. 
 
 Sir Charles. I'm astonished at the air of sincerity 
 with which he parted. 
 
 Hard. And I'm astonished at the deliberate in- 
 trepidity of his assurance. 
 
 Sir Charles. I dare pledge my life and honour upon 
 his truth. 
 
86 /jHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 ILsrd. l^ ere comes my daughter, and I would stake 
 rny happiness upon her veracity. 
 
 Enter Miss HARDCASTLE. 
 
 Hard. Kate, come hither, child. Answer us 
 sincerely, and without reserve : has Mr. Marlow made 
 you any professions of love and affection. ? 
 
 Miss Hard. The question is very abrupt, sir. But 
 since you require unreserved sincerity, I think he has. 
 
 Hard. [To SIR CHARLES.] You see. 
 
 Sir Charles. And pray, madam, have you and my 
 son had more than one interview ? 
 
 Miss Hard. Yes, sir, several. 
 
 Hard. [To SIR CHARLES.] You see. 
 
 Sir Charles. But did he profess any attachment ? 
 
 Miss Hard. A lasting one. 
 
 Sir Charles. Did he talk of love ? 
 
 Miss Hard. Much, sir. 
 
 Sir Charles. Amazing ! and all this formally ? 
 
 Miss Hard. Formally. 
 
 Hard. Now, my friend, I hope you are satisfied ? 
 
 Sir Charles. And how did he behave, madam ? 
 
 Miss Hard. As most professed admirers do. Said 
 some civil things of my face ; talked much of his want 
 of merit, and the greatness of mine ; mentioned his 
 heart ; gave a short tragedy speech, and ended with 
 pretended rapture. 
 
 Sir Charles. Now I'm perfectly convinced, indeed. 
 I know his conversation among women to be modest 
 and submissive. This forward, canting, ranting manner 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER, 87 
 
 by no means describes him, and I am confident he 
 never sat for the picture. 
 
 Miss Hard. Then what, sir, if I should convince you 
 to your face of my sincerity ? If you and my papa, in 
 about half an hour, will place yourselves behind that 
 screen, you shall hear him declare his passion to me 
 in person. 
 
 Sir Charles. Agreed. And if I find him what you 
 describe, all my happiness in him must have an end. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Miss Hard. And if you don't find him what I 
 describe I fear my happiness must never have a 
 beginning. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene changes to the back of the garden. 
 
 Enter HASTINGS. 
 
 Hast. "What an idiot am I, to wait here for a fellow 
 who probably takes a delight in mortifying me ! He 
 never intended to be punctual, and I'll wait no longer. 
 What do I see ? It is he, and perhaps with news of 
 my Constance. 
 
 Enter TONY, booted and spattered. 
 
 Hast. My honest 'squire ! I now find you a man of 
 your word. This looks like friendship. 
 
 Tony. Ay, I'm your friend, and the best friend you 
 have in the world, if you knew but all. This riding by 
 night, by-the-by, is cursedly tiresome. It has shook^L 
 me worse than the basket of a stage-coach. 
 
 Hast. But how ? Where did you leave your fellow- 
 travellers ? Are they in safety ? Are they housed ? 
 
tb'HE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 Tony. Five-and-twenty miles in two hours and a 
 half is 110 such bad driving. The poor beasts have 
 smoked for it. Rabbit me, but I'd rather ride forty 
 miles after a fox, than ten with such varment. 
 
 Hast. Well, but where have you left the ladies ? I 
 die with impatience. 
 
 Tony. Left them ? Why, where should I leave 
 them, but where I found them ? 
 
 Hast. This is a riddle. 
 
 Tony. Riddle me this then. What's that goes round 
 the house, and round the house, and never touches the 
 house ? 
 
 Hast. I'm still astray. 
 
 Tony. Why, that's it, num. I have led them astray. 
 By jingo, there's not a pond or slough within five miles 
 of the place, but they can tell the taste of. 
 
 Hast. Ha, ha, ha ! I understand : you took them in 
 a round, while they supposed themselves going forward. 
 And so you have at last brought them home again. 
 
 Tony. You shall hear. I first took them down 
 Feather-bed Lane, where we stuck fast in the mud. I 
 then rattled them crack over the stones of Up- and- 
 Down Hill I then introduced them to the gibbet, on 
 Heavy-tree Heath ; and from that with a circum- 
 bendibus, I fairly lodged them in the horse-pond at ohe 
 bottom of the garden. 
 
 Hast. But no accident, I hope. 
 
 Tony. No, no. Only mother is confoundedly 
 frightened. She thinks herself forty miles off. She's 
 sick of the journey, and the cattle can scarce crawl. 
 So, if your own horses be ready, you may whip off 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER, 89 
 
 with cousin, and I'll be bound that no soul here can 
 budge a foot to follow you. 
 
 Hast. My dear friend, how can I be grateful ? 
 
 Tony. Ay, now it's dear friend, noble 'squire. Just 
 now, it was all idiot, cub, and run me through the guts. 
 Confound your way of fighting, I say. After we take 
 a knock in this part of the country, we kiss and be 
 friends. But, if you had run me through the guts, 
 then I should be dead, and you might go kiss the 
 hangman. 
 
 Hast. The rebuke is just. But I must hasten to 
 relieve Miss Neville ; if you keep the old lady employed, 
 I promise to take care of the young one. 
 
 [Exit HASTINGS. 
 
 Tony. Never fear me. Here she comes. Vanish ! 
 She's got from the pond, and draggled up to the waist 
 like a mermaid. 
 
 Enter MRS. HARDCASTLE. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Oh, Tony, I'm killed shook battered 
 - to death. I shall never survive it. That last jolt, 
 that laid us against the quickset hedge, has done my 
 business. 
 
 Tony. Alack! mamma, it was all your own fault. 
 You would be for running away by night, without 
 knowing one inch of the way. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. I wish we were at home again. I never 
 met so many accidents in so short a journey. Drenched 
 in the mud, overturned in a ditch, stuck fast in a 
 slough, jolted to a jelly, and at last to lose our way ! 
 Whereabouts do you think we are, Tony ? c 
 
90 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 Tony. By my guess we should he upon Orackskull 
 Common, about forty miles from home. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Oh, lud ! oh, lud ! the most notorious 
 spot in all the country. We only want a robbery to 
 make a complete night on't. 
 
 Tony. Don't be afraid, mamma ! don't be afraid. 
 Two of the five that were kept here are hanged, and 
 the other three may not find us. Don't be afraid. Is 
 that a man that's galloping behind us ? No, it's only a 
 tree. Don't be afraid. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. The fright will certainly kill me. 
 
 Tony. Do you see anything like a black hat moving 
 behind the thicket ? 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Oh, death ! 
 
 Tony. 'No, it's only a cow. Don't be afraid, mamma : 
 don't be afraid. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. As I'm alive, Tony, I see a man coming 
 towards us. Ah, I'm sure on't. If he perceives us, 
 we are undone. 
 
 Tony. [Aside."] Father-in-law, by all that's un- 
 lucky, come to take one of his night walks. [To her.l . 
 Ah! it's a highwayman, with pistols as long as my 
 arm. An ill-looking fellow. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Good Heaven ! defend us ! He ap- 
 proaches. 
 
 Tony. Do you hide yourself in that thicket, and 
 leave me to manage him. If there be any danger, 
 I'll cough and cry hem ! When I cough, be sure to 
 keep close. 
 
 [MRS. HABDCASTLE hides behind a tree, in the 
 
 bade scene. 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 91 
 
 Enter HARDCASTLE. 
 
 Hard. I'm mistaken, or I heard voices of people in 
 want of help. Oh, Tony, is that you? I did not 
 expect you so soon back. Are your mother and her 
 charge in safety ? 
 
 Tony. Very safe, sir, at my Aunt Pedigree's. Hem ! 
 
 Mrs. Hard. [From behind.^ Ah, death ! I find 
 there's danger. 
 
 Hard. Forty miles in three hours ; sure that's too 
 much, my youngster. 
 
 Tony. Stout horses and willing minds make short 
 journey, as they say. Hem ! 
 
 Mrs. Hard. [From behind. ,] Sure he'll do the dear 
 boy no harm ! 
 
 Hard. But I heard a voice here ; I shall be glad to 
 know from whence it came. 
 
 Tony. It was I, sir ; talking to myself, sir. I was 
 saying, that forty miles in three hours was very good 
 going hem ! As to be sure, it was hem ! I have 
 got a sort of cold by being out in the air. We'll go in, 
 if you please hem ! 
 
 Hard. But if you talked to yourself, you did not 
 answer yourself: I am certain I heard two voices,*and 
 am resolved [raising his voice] to find the other out. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. \_From behind.^ Oh ! he's coming to 
 find me out. Oh ! 
 
 Tony. What need you go, sir, if I tell you hem ! 
 I'll lay down my life for the truth hern ! I'll tell you 
 all, sir [Detaining him. 
 
 Hard. I tell you, I will not be detained. I insist on 
 seeing. It's in vain to expect I'll believe you. 
 
$2 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 Mrs. Hard, [running forward from behind.^ Oh, 
 Ind, he'll murder iny poor boy, my darling ! Here, 
 good gentleman, whet your rage upon me. Take my 
 money, my life ; but spare that young gentleman, spare 
 my child, if you have any mercy. 
 
 Hard. My wife ! as I'm a Christian. From whence 
 can she come, or what does she mean ? 
 
 Mrs. Hard. [Kneeling.'] Take compassion on us, 
 good Mr. Highwayman. Take our money, our watches, 
 all we have ; but spare our lives. We will never bring 
 you to justice ; indeed, we won't, good Mr. Highway- 
 man. 
 
 Hard. I believe the woman's out of her senses. 
 "What ! Dorothy, don't you know me ? 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Mr. Hardcastle, as I'm alive ! My fears 
 blinded me. But who, my dear, could have expected 
 to meet you here, in this frightful place, so far from 
 home ? What has brought you to follow us ? 
 
 Hard. Sure, Dorothy, you have not lost your wits ? 
 So far from home, when you are within forty yards of 
 your own door? [To him.'] This is one of your old 
 tricks, you graceless rogue, you. [To JierJ] Don't you 
 know the gate, and the mulberry tree ? and don't you 
 remember the horse-pond, my dear ? 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Yes, I shall remembei the horse-pond 
 as long as I live : I have caught my death in it. [To 
 TONY.] And is it to you, you graceless varlet, I owe 
 all this ? I'll teach you to abuse your mother, I 
 will. 
 
 Tony. Ecod, mother, all the parish says you havo 
 spoiled me, and so you may take the fruits on't, 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUEfi. 93 
 
 Mrs. Hard, I'll spoil you, I will. 
 
 [ Follows him off the stage. Exit. 
 Hard. There's morality, however, in his reply. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter HASTINGS and Miss NEVILLE. 
 
 Hast. My dear Constance, why will you deliberate 
 thus? If we delay a moment, all is lost for ever. 
 Pluck up a little resolution, and we shall soon be out 
 of the reach of her malignity. 
 
 Miss Nev. I find it impossible. My spirits are so 
 sunk with the agitations I have suffered, that I am 
 unable to face any new danger. Two or three years' 
 patience will at last crown us with happiness. 
 
 Hast. Such a tedious delay is worse than incon- 
 stancy. Let us fly, my charmer. Let us date our 
 happiness from this very moment. Perish fortune ! 
 Love and content will increase what we possess, be- 
 yond a monarch's revenue. Let me prevail. 
 
 Miss Nev. No, Mr. Hastings ; 110. Prudence once 
 more conies to my relief, and I will obey its dictates. 
 In the moment of passion, fortune may be despised; 
 but it ever produces a lasting repentance. I'm resolved 
 to apply to Mr. Hardcastle's compassion and justice 
 for redress. 
 
 Hast. But though he had the will, he has not the 
 power to relieve you. 
 
 Miss Nev. But he has influence, and upon that I am 
 resolved to rely. 
 
 Hast. I have no hopes. But since you persist, I 
 must reluctantly obey you, [Exeunt, 
 
94 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 Scene Changes. 
 Enter SIR CHARLES and Miss HARDCASTLE. 
 
 Sir Charles, What a situation am I in ! If what 
 you say appears, I shall then find a guilty son. If 
 what he says be true, I shall then lose one that, of all 
 others, I most wished for a daughter. 
 
 Miss Hard. I am proud of your approbation, and to 
 show I merit it, if you place yourselves as I directed, 
 you shall hear his explicit declaration. But he comes. 
 
 Sir Charles. I'll to your father, and keep him to the 
 appointment. [Exit SIR CHARLES. 
 
 Enter MARLOW. 
 
 Marl. Though prepared for setting out, I come once 
 more to take leave ; nor did I, till this moment, know 
 the pain I feel in this separation. 
 
 Miss Hard. [In her own natural manner."] I believe 
 these sufferings cannot be very great, sir, which you 
 can so easily remove. A day or two longer, perhaps, 
 might lessen your uneasiness, by showing the little 
 value of what you now think proper to regret. 
 
 Marl. [Aside J\ This girl every moment improves upon 
 me. [To her.~\ It must not be, madam. I have already 
 trifled too long with my heart. My very pride begins 
 to submit to my passion. The disparity of education 
 and fortune, the anger of a parent, and the contempt 
 of my equals, begin to lose their weight, and nothing 
 can restore me to myself but this painful effort of 
 resolution. 
 
 Miss Hard. Then go, sir. I'll urge nothing more 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 95 
 
 to detain you. Though my family be as good as hers 
 you came down to visit, and my education, I hope, not 
 inferior, what are these advantages, without equal 
 affluence. I must remain contented with the slight 
 approbation of imputed merit ; I must have only the 
 mockery of your addresses, while all your serious aims 
 are fixed on fortune. 
 
 Enter HAKDCASTLE and SIR CHARLES from 
 behind. 
 
 Sir Charles. Here, behind this screen. 
 
 Hard. Ay, ay, make no noise. I'll engage my Kate 
 covers him with confusion at last. 
 
 Marl. By heavens, madam, fortune was ever my 
 smallest consideration. Your beauty at first caught 
 my eye ; for who could see that without emotion ? But 
 every moment that I converse with you steals in some 
 new grace, heightens the picture, and gives it stronger 
 expression. What at first seemed rustic plainness now 
 appears refined simplicity. What seemed forward 
 assurance now strikes me as the result of courageous 
 innocence and conscious virtue. 
 
 Sir Charles. What can it mean ? He amazes me ! 
 
 Hard. I told you how it would be. Hush ! 
 
 Marl. I am now determined to stay, madam ; and I 
 have too good an opinion of my father's discernment, 
 when he sees you, to doubt his approbation. 
 
 Miss Hard. No, Mr. Marlow, I will not, cannot 
 detain you. Do you think I could suffer a connection 
 in which there is the smallest room for repentance ? 
 Do you think I would take the mean advantage of a 
 
96 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 transient passion, to load you with confusion ? Do you 
 think I could ever relish that happiness which was 
 acquired by lessening yours ? 
 
 Marl. By all that's good, I can have no happiness 
 but what's in your power to grant me. Nor shall I 
 ever feel repentance, but in not having seen your 
 merits before. I will stay, even contrary to your 
 wishes ; and though you should persist to shun me, I 
 will make my respectful assiduities atone for the levity 
 of my past conduct. 
 
 Miss Hard. Sir, I must entreat you'll desist. As 
 our acquaintance began, so let it end, in indifference. 
 I might have given an hour or two to levity ; but 
 seriously, Mr. Marlow, do you think I could ever 
 submit to a connection where J must appear mer- 
 cenary, and you imprudent? Do you think I could 
 ever catch at the confident addresses of a secure 
 admirer. 
 
 Marl [Kneeling.'] Does this look like security? 
 Does this look like confidence? No, madam; every 
 moment that shows me your merit only serves to in- 
 crease my diffidence and confusion. Here let me con- 
 tinue 
 
 Sir Charles. I can hold it no longer. Charles, 
 Charles, how hast thou deceived me ! Is this your 
 indifference, your uninteresting conversation ? 
 
 Hard. Your cold contempt your formal interview ? 
 What have you to say now ? 
 
 Marl. That I'm all amazement ! What can it 
 mean ? 
 
 Hard. It means, that you can say and unsay things 
 
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 97 
 
 at pleasure. That you can address a lady in private, 
 and deny it in public ; that you have one story for us, 
 and another for my daughter. 
 
 Marl. Daughter ! this lady your daughter ! 
 
 Hard. Yes, sir, my only daughter; my Kate. 
 Whose else should she be ? 
 
 Marl Oh ! 
 
 Miss Hard. Yes, sir, that very identical tall, squint- 
 ing lady you were pleased to take me for. [Curtseying.] 
 She that you addressed as the mild, modest, sentimental 
 man of gravity, and the bold, forward, agreeable Rattle 
 of the ladies' club ; ha ! ha ! ha I 
 
 Marl. Zounds, there's no bearing this ; it's worse 
 than death. 
 
 Miss Hard. In which of your characters, sir, will 
 you give us leave to address you ? As the faltering 
 gentleman, with looks on the ground, that speaks just 
 to be heard, and hates hypocrisy ; or the loud con- 
 fident creature, that keeps it up with Mrs. Mantrap, 
 and old Miss Biddy Buckskin, till three in the morii- 
 ing ? Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Marl. Oh, my noisy head ! I never attempted 
 
 to be impudent yet, that I was not taken down. I 
 must be gone. 
 
 Hard. By the hand of my body, but you shall not. 
 I see it was all a mistake, and I am rejoiced to find it. 
 You shall not, sir, I tell you. I know she'll forgive you. 
 Won't you forgive him, Kate P We'll all forgive you. 
 Take courage, man. 
 
 [They retire, she tormenting him. to the back 
 
 scene. 
 D 19 
 
98 SHE STOOPS TO CONQJJElt. 
 
 i 
 
 Enter MBS. HAKDCASTLE. TONY. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. So, so, they're gone off. Let them go, 
 I care not. 
 
 Hard. Who gone P 
 
 Mrs. Hard. My dutiful niece and her gentleman, 
 Mr. Hastings, from town. He who came down with 
 our modest visitor here. 
 
 Sir Charles. Who, my honest George Hastings ? 
 As worthy a fellow as lives ; and the girl could nat 
 have made a more prudent choice. 
 
 Hard. Then, by the hand of my body. I'm proud of 
 the connection. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Well, if he has taken away the lady, he. 
 has not taken her fortune ; that remains in this family, 
 to console us for her loss. 
 
 Hard. Sure, Dorothy, you would not be so mer- 
 cenary. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Ay, that's my affair, not yours. 
 
 Hard. But you know, if your son, when of age, 
 refuses to marry his cousin, her whole fortune is then 
 at her own disposal. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Ay, but he's not of age, and she has not 
 thought proper to wait for his refusal. 
 
 Enter HASTINGS and Miss NEVILLE. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. [Aside."] What ! returned so soon. I 
 begin not to like it. 
 
 Hast. [To HARDCASTLE.] For my late attempt to 
 fly off with your niece, let my present confusion be my 
 punishment. We are now come back, to appeal from 
 your justice to your humanity. By her father's con^ 
 
V SHE STOOPS TO CONQDEB,. 99 
 
 sent, I first paid her my addresses, and our passions 
 were first founded on duty. 
 
 Miss Nev. Since his death, I have been obliged to 
 stoop to dissimulation to avoid oppression. In an hour 
 of levity, I was ready even to give up my fortune to 
 secure my choice. But I am now recovered from the 
 delusion, and hope, from your tenderness, what is 
 denied me from a nearer connection. 
 
 Mrs. Hard. Pshaw, pshaw! this is all but the x? 
 whining end of a modem novel. 
 
 Hard. Be it what it will, I'm glad they're come 
 back to reclaim their due. Come hither, Tony boy. 
 Do you refuse this lady's hand whom I now oiler you ? 
 
 Tony. What signifies my refusing ? You know I 
 can't refuse her till I'm of age, father. 
 
 Hard. While I thought concealing your age, boy, 
 was likely to conduce to your improvement, I con- 
 curred with your mother's desire, to keep it secret. 
 But since I find she turns it to a wrong use, I must 
 now declare you have been of age these three months. 
 
 Tony. Of age ! Am I of age, father ? 
 
 Hard. Above three months. 
 
 Tony. Then you'll see the first use I'll make of my 
 liberty. [Taking Miss NEVILLE'S hand] Witness 
 all men by these presents, that I, Anthony Lumpkiii, 
 Esquire, of blank place, refuse you, Constantia 
 Neville, spinster, of no place at all, for my true and 
 lawful wife. So Constantia Neville may marry whom 
 she pleases, and Tony Lumpkin is his own man 
 again. 
 
 Sir Charles. Oh, brave squire ! 
 
100 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
 
 Hast. My worthy friend ! 
 
 Mrs. Hard. My undutiful offspring ! 
 
 Marl. Joy, my dear George ; I give you joy sin- 
 cerely. And could I prevail upon my little tyrant 
 here, to be less arbitrary, I should be the happiest man 
 alive, if you would return me the favour. 
 
 Hast. [To Miss HARDCASTLE.] Come, madam, you 
 are now driven to the very last scene of all your con- 
 trivances. I know you like him, I'm sure he loves you, 
 and you must and shall have him. 
 
 Hard. [Joining their hands. ~] And I say so too. 
 And, Mr. Marlow, if she makes as good a wife as she 
 has a daughter, I don't believe you'll ever repent your 
 bargain. So now to supper. To-morrow we shall 
 gather all the poor of the parish about us ; and the 
 mistakes of the night shall be crowned with a merry 
 morning. So, boy, take her ; and as you have been 
 mistaken in the mistress, my wish is, that you may 
 never be mistaken in the wife. 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 DEAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 MEN. 
 
 MR. HONEYWOOD 
 
 CROAKER. 
 
 LOFTY. 
 
 SIR WILLIAM HONEY WOOD. 
 
 LEONTINE. 
 
 JARVIS. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 BAILIFF. 
 
 DUBARDIEtT. 
 
 POSTBOY. 
 
 WOMEN. 
 
 Miss HIGHLAND. 
 OLIVIA. 
 
 MRS. CROAKER O 
 
 SCENE London. 
 
 GARNET. 
 LANDLADY, 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. An apartment in YOUNG HONEY WOOD'S 
 House. 
 
 Enter SIR WILLIAM HONEYWOOD, and JARVIS. 
 
 Sir Will. Good Jarvis, make no apologies for this 
 honest bluntness. Fidelity like yours is the best 
 excuse for every freedom. 
 
 Jarvis. I can't help being blunt, and being very 
 angry too, when I hear you talk of disinheriting so 
 good, so worthy a young gentleman as your nephew, 
 my master. All the world loves him. 
 
104 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 Sir Will. Say rather, that he loves all the world; 
 that is his fault. 
 
 Jarvis. I'm sure there is no part of it more dear to 
 him than you are. though he has not seen you since he 
 was a child. 
 
 Sir Will. What signifies his affection to me? or 
 Low can I be proud of a place in a heart where every 
 sharper and coxcomb finds an easy entrance ? 
 
 Jarvis. I grant that he's rather too good-natured ; 
 and that he's too much every man's man ; that he 
 laughs this minute with one, and cries the next with 
 another : but whose instructions may he thank for all 
 this ? 
 
 Sir Will. Not mine, sure ! My letters to him 
 during my employment in Italy, taught him only that 
 philosophy which might prevent, not defend, his 
 errors. 
 
 Jarvis. Faith, begging your honour's pardon, I'm 
 sorry they taught him any philosophy at all ; it has 
 only served to spoil him. This same philosophy is a 
 good horse in the stable, but an errant jade on a 
 journey. For my own part, whenever I hear him 
 mention the name on't, I'm always sure he's going to 
 play the fool. 
 
 Sir Will. Don't let us ascribe his faults to his philo- 
 sophy, I entreat you. No, Jarvis, his good nature 
 arises rather frdm his fears of offending the importu- 
 nate, than his desire of making the deserving happy. 
 
 Jarvis. What it rises from, I don't know. But, to 
 be sure, everybody has it that asks it. 
 
 Sir Will. Ay, or that does not ask it. I have been 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 105 
 
 now for some time a concealed spectator of his follies, 
 and find them as boundless as his dissipation. 
 
 Jarvis. And yet, he has some fine name or other for 
 them all. He calls his extravagance, generosity; 
 and his trusting everybody, universal benevolence. It 
 was but last week he went security for a fellow whose 
 face he scarce knew, and that he called an act of 
 exalted mu mu munificence ; ay, that was the name 
 he gave it. 
 
 Sir Will. And upon that I proceed, as my last 
 effort, though with very little hopes, to reclaim him. 
 That very fellow has just absconded, and I have taken up 
 the security. Now, my intention is, to involve him in 
 fictitious distress, before he has plunged himself into 
 real calamity ; to arrest him for that very debt, to clap 
 an officer upon him, and then let him see which of his 
 friends will come to his relief. 
 
 Jarvis. Well, if I could in any way see him 
 thoroughly vexed, every groan of his would be music 
 to me ; yet, I believe it is impossible. I have tried 
 to fret him myself every morning these three years ; 
 but, instead of being angry, he sits as calmly to hear 
 me scold, as he does to his hairdresser. 
 
 Sir Will. We must try him once more, however, and 
 I'll go this instant to put my scheme into execution ; 
 and I don't despair of succeeding, as by your means I 
 can have frequent opportunities of being about him, 
 without being known. What a pity it is, Jarvis, that 
 any man's good- will to others should produce so much 
 neglect of himself, as to require correction ! Yet, we 
 must touch his weaknesses with a delicate hand. There 
 D* 19 
 
106 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 are some faults so nearly allied to excellence, that we 
 can scarce weed out the vice without eradicating the 
 virtue. [Exit. 
 
 Jarvis. Well, go thy ways, Sir William Honeywood. 
 It is not without reason that the world allows thee to 
 be the best of men. But here comes his hopeful 
 nephew ; the strange, good-natured, foolish, open- 
 hearted. And yet, all his faults are such that one 
 loves him still the better for them. 
 
 Enter HONEYWOOD. 
 
 Honeywood. Well, Jarvis, what messages from my 
 friends this morning ? 
 
 Jarvis. You have no friends 
 
 Honeywood. Well, from my acquaintance then P 
 
 Jarvis. [Pulling out bills.'] A few of our usual cards 
 of compliment, that's all. This bill from your tailor ; 
 this from your mercer ; and this from the little broker 
 in Crooked Lane. He says he has been at a great 
 deal of trouble to get back the money you borrowed. 
 
 Honeywood. That I don't know ; but I'm more sure 
 we were at a great deal of trouble in getting him to 
 lend it. 
 
 Jarvis. He has lost all patience. 
 
 Honeywood. Then he has lost a very good thing. 
 
 Jarvis. There's that ten guineas you were sending 
 to the poor gentleman and his children in the Fleet. 
 I believe that would stop his^ mouth, for a while at 
 least. 
 
 Honeywood. Ay, Jarvis, but what will fill their 
 mouths in the meantime ? Must I be cruel because he 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 107 
 
 happens to be importunate ; and, to relieve his avarice, 
 leave them to insupportable distress ? 
 
 Jarvis. Sir, the question now is, how to relieve 
 yourself yourself. -Haven't I reason to be out of my 
 senses, when I see things going" at sixes and sevens ? 
 
 Honeywood. Whatever reason you may have for be- 
 ing out of your senses, I hope you'll allow that I'm 
 not quite unreasonable for continuing in mine. 
 
 Jarvis. You're the only man alive in your present 
 situation that could do so. Everything upon the waste. 
 There's Miss Richland and her fine fortune gone al- 
 ready, and upon the point of being given to your rival. 
 
 Honeyivood. I'm no man's rival. 
 
 Jarvis. Your uncle in Italy preparing to disinherit 
 you : your own fortune almost spent ; and nothing but 
 pressing creditors, false friends, and a pack of drunken 
 servants that your kindness has made unfit for any 
 other family. 
 
 Honeywood. Then they have the more occasion for 
 being in mine. 
 
 Jarvis. So ! What will you have done with him that 
 I caught stealing your plate in the pantry ? In. the fact; 
 I caught him in the fact. 
 
 Honeywood. In the fact ? If so, I really think that 
 we should pay him his wages and turn him off. 
 
 Jarvis. He shall be turned off at Tyburn, the dog ; 
 we'll hang him if it be only to frighten the rest of the 
 family. 
 
 Honeywood. No, Jarvis ; it's enough that we have 
 lost what he has stolen ; let us not add to it the loss of 
 a fellow-creature. 
 
108 THE GOOD-MATURED MAN. 
 
 Jarvis. Yery fine ; well, here was the footman just 
 now, to complain of the butler ; he says he does most 
 work, and ought to have most wages. 
 
 Honey wood. That's but just: though perhaps here 
 comes the butler to complain of the footman. 
 
 Jarvis. Ay, its the way with them all, from the scul- 
 lion to the privy councillor. If they have a bad master, 
 they keep quarrelling with him ; if they have a good 
 master, they keep quarrelling with one another. 
 
 Enter BUTLER, drunk. 
 
 Butler. Sir, I'll not stay in the family with Jona- 
 than : you must part with him, or part with me that's 
 the ex-ex-position of the matter, sir. 
 
 Honeywood. Full and explicit enough. But what's 
 his fault, good Philip? 
 
 Butler. Sir, he's given to drinking, sir, and I 
 shall have my morals corrupted by keeping such 
 company. 
 
 Honeywood. Ha ! ha ! he has such a diverting 
 way 
 
 Jarvis. Oh ! quite amusing. 
 
 Butler. I find my wines a-going sir; and liquors 
 don't go without mouths sir ; I hate a drunkard, sir. 
 
 Honeywood. Well, well, Philip, I'll hear you upon 
 that another time, so go to bed now. 
 
 Jarvis. To bed ! Let him. go to 
 
 Butler. Begging your honour's pardon, and begging 
 your pardon, master Jarvis, I'll not go to bed. I have 
 enough to do to mind my cellar. I forgot, your 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 109 
 
 honour, Mr. Croaker is below. I came on purpose to 
 tell you. 
 
 Honeywood. Why didn't you show him up, block- 
 head? 
 
 Butler. Show him up, sir? With all my heart, sir. 
 Up or down, all's one to me. [Exit. 
 
 Jarvis. Ay, we have one or other of that family in 
 this house from morning till night. He comes on the 
 old affair, I suppose ; the match between his son, that's 
 just returned from Paris, and Miss Richland, the young 
 lady he's guardian to. 
 
 Honeywood. Perhaps so. Mr. Croaker, knowing 
 my friendship for the young lady, has got it into his 
 head that I can persuade her to what I please. 
 
 Jarvis. Ah ! if you loved yourself but half as well 
 as she loves you, we should soon see a marriage that 
 would set all things to rights again. 
 
 Honeywood. Love me ! Sure, Jarvis, you dream. 
 No, no ; her intimacy with me never amounted to more 
 than mere friendship mere friendship. That she is 
 the most lovely woman that ever warmed the human 
 heart, I own. But never let me harbour a thought of 
 making her unhappy, by a connection with one so un- 
 worthy her merits, as I am. No, Jarvis ; it shall be 
 my study to serve her, even in spite of my wishes ; 
 and to secure her happiness, though it destroys my 
 own. 
 
 Jarvis. Was ever the like ? I want patience. 
 
 Honeywood. Besides, Jarvis, though I could obtain 
 Miss Richland' s consent, do you think I could succeed 
 with her guardian, or Mrs. Croaker his wife; who, 
 
110 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 though "both very fine in their way, are yet a little 
 opposite in their dispositions, you know ? 
 
 Jarvis. Opposite enough; the very reverse of each 
 other ; she all laugh and no joke, he always complain- 
 ing and never sorrowful; a fretful, poor soul, that 
 has a new distress for every hour in the four-and- 
 twenty 
 
 Honeywood. Hush, hush, he's coming up ! he'll hear 
 you. 
 
 Jarvis. One whose voice is a passing-bell 
 
 Honeywood. Well, well, go, do. 
 
 Jarvis. A raven that bodes nothing but mischief ; a 
 coffin and cross-bones ; a bundle of rue ; a sprig of 
 
 deadly nightshade ; a [HONEYWOOD, stopping his 
 
 mouth, at last pushes him off.~\ \JExit JARVIS. 
 
 Honeywood. I must own, my old monitor is not 
 entirely wrong. There is something in my friend 
 Croaker's conversation that quite depresses me. His 
 very mirth is an antidote to all gaiety, and his appear- 
 ance has a stronger effect on my spirits than an under- 
 taker's shop. Mr. Croaker, this is such a satisfac- 
 tion 
 
 Enter CROAKER. 
 
 Croaker. A pleasant morning to Mr. Honeywood, 
 and many of them. How is this? You look most 
 shockingly to-day, my dear friend. I hope this weather 
 does not affect your spirits. To be sure, if this weather 
 continues I say nothing but may we be all better 
 this day three months - 
 
 Honeywood. I heartily concur in the wish, though, I 
 own not in your apprehensions. 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. Ill 
 
 Croaker. Maybe not. Indeed, what signifies what 
 weather we have, in a country going to ruin like ours ? 
 Taxes rising and trade falling. Money flying out of 
 the kingdom and Jesuits swarming into it. I know at 
 this time no less than a hundred and twenty- seven 
 Jesuits between Charing Cross and Temple Bar. 
 
 Honey wood. The Jesuits will scarcely pervert you or 
 me, I should hope? 
 
 Croaker. Maybe not. Indeed, what signifies whom 
 they pervert in a country that has scarce any religion 
 to lose ? I'm only afraid of our wives and daughters. 
 Honeywood. I have no apprehensions for the ladies, 
 I assure you. 
 
 Croaker. Maybe not. Indeed, what signifies whether 
 they be perverted or not? The women in my time 
 were good for something. I have seen a lady dressed 
 from top to toe in her own manufactures formerly. But 
 now-a-days there's not a thing of their own manufacture 
 about them, except their faces. 
 
 Honeywood. But, however these faults may be prac- 
 tised abroad, you don't find them at home, either with 
 Mrs. Croaker, Olivia, or Miss Bichland. 
 
 CroaJcer. The best of them will never be canonised 
 for a saint when she's dead. By-the-by, my dear 
 friend, I don't find this match between Miss E/ichland 
 and my son much relished, either by one side or t'other. 
 Honeywood. I thought otherwise. 
 Croaker. Ah ! Mr. Honeywood, a little of your fine 
 serious advice to the young lady might go far : I 
 know she has a very exalted opinion of your under- 
 standing. 
 
112 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 Honeywood. But would not that be usurping an 
 authority that more properly belongs to yourself ? 
 
 Croaker My dear friend, you know but little of my 
 authority at home. People think, indeed, because they 
 see me come out in a morning thus, with a pleasant 
 face, and to make my friends merry, that all's well 
 within. But I have cares that would break a heart of 
 stone. My wife has so encroached upon every one of 
 my privileges, that I'm now no more than a mere lodger 
 in my own house. 
 
 Honeywood. But a little spirit exerted on your side 
 might perhaps restore your authority. 
 
 Croaker. No, though I had the spirit of a lion. I do 
 rouse sometimes. But what then? always haggling 
 and haggling. A man is tired of getting the better, 
 before his wife is tired of losing the victory. 
 
 Honeywood. It's a melancholy consideration indeed, 
 that our chief comforts often produce our greatest 
 anxieties, and that an increase of our possessions is but 
 an inlet to new disquietudes. 
 
 Croaker, Ah, my dear friend, these were the very 
 words of poor Dick Doleful to me not a week before he 
 made away with himself. Indeed, Mr. Honeywood, 
 I never see you but you put me in mind of poor Dick. 
 Ah, there was merit neglected for you ! and so true a 
 friend ; we loved each other for thirty years, and yet 
 he nevar asked me to lend him a single farthing. 
 
 Honeywood. Pray, what could induce him to co'inmit 
 so rash an action at last ? 
 
 Croaker. I don't know ; some people were malicious 
 enough to say it was keeping company with me ; be- 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 113 
 
 cause we used to meet, now and then, and open our 
 hearts to each other. To be sure, I loved to hear him 
 talk, and he loved to hear me talk. Poor dear Dick ! 
 He used to say that Croaker rhymed to joker ; and so 
 we used to laugh Poor Dick ! [Going to cry. 
 
 Honey wood. His fate affects me. 
 
 Croaker. Ay, he grew sick of this miserable life, 
 where we do nothing but eat and grow hungry, dress 
 and undress, get up and lie down ; while reason, that 
 should watch like a nurse by our side, falls as fast 
 asleep as we do. 
 
 Honeywood. To say a truth, if we compare that part 
 of life which is to come, by that which we have passed, 
 the prospect is hideous. 
 
 Croaker. Life at the greatest and best is but a 
 f reward child, that must be humoured and coaxed a 
 little till it falls asleep, and then all the care is over. 
 
 Honeywood. Yery true, sir ; nothing can exceed the 
 vanity of our .existence but the folly of our pursuits. 
 We wept when we came into the world, and every day 
 tells us why. 
 
 Croaker. Ah, my dear friend, it is a perfect satis- 
 faction to be miserable with you. My son Leontine 
 shan't lose the benefit of such fine conversation. I'll 
 just step home for him. I am willing to show him so 
 much seriousness in one scarce older than himself. 
 And what if I bring my last letter to the Gazetteer on 
 the increase and progress of earthquakes? It will 
 amuse us, I promise you. I there prove how the late 
 earthquake is coming round to pay us another visit 
 from London to Lisbon, from Lisbon to the Canary 
 
114 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 Islands, from the Canary Islands to Palmyra, from 
 Palmyra to Constantinople, and so from Constantinople 
 back to London again. [Exit. 
 
 Honeywood. Poor Croaker ! His situation deserves 
 the utmost pity. I shall scarce recover my spirits these 
 three days. Sure, to live upon such terms is worse 
 than death itself. And yet, when I consider my own 
 situation : a broken fortune, a hopeless passion, friends 
 in distress ; the wish but not the power to serve them. 
 
 [Pausing and sighing. 
 Enter BUTLER. 
 
 Sutler. More company below, sir ; Mrs. Croaker and 
 Miss K-ichland. Shall I show them up ? But they're 
 showing up themselves. [Exit. 
 
 Enter MRS. CROAKER and Miss HIGHLAND. 
 
 Miss Rich. You're always in such spirits. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. We have just come, my dear Honey- 
 wood, from the auction. There was the old deaf 
 dowager, as usual, bidding like a fury against herself : 
 and then so curious in antiques ! herself the most 
 genuine piece of antiquity in the whole collection. 
 
 Honeywood. Excuse me, ladies, if some uneasiness 
 from friendship makes me unfit to share in this good 
 humour : I know you'll pardon me. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. I vow, he seems as melancholy as if 
 he had taken a dose of my husband this morning. 
 Well, if Richland here can pardon you, I must. 
 
 Miss Rich. You would seem to insinuate, madam, 
 that I have particular reasons for being disposed to 
 refuse it. 
 
THE GOOD-NATTJEED MAN. 115 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. "Whatever I insinuate, my dear, don't 
 be so ready to wish an explanation. 
 
 Miss Rich. I own I should be sorry Mr. Honey- 
 wood's long friendship and mine should be misunder- 
 stood. 
 
 Honeywood. There's no answering for others, 
 madam ; but I hope you'll never find me presuming to 
 offer more than the most delicate friendship may 
 readily allow. 
 
 Miss Rich. And I shall be prouder of such a tribute 
 from you, than the most passionate professions from 
 others. 
 
 Honeywood. My own sentiments, madam : friendship 
 is a disinterested commerce between equals ; love an 
 abject intercourse between tyrants and slaves. 
 
 Miss Rich. And, without a compliment, I know 
 none more disinterested or more capable of friendship 
 than Mr. Honeywood. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. And, indeed, I know nobody that has 
 more friends at least, among the ladies. Miss Fruzz, 
 Miss Oddbody, and Miss "Winterbottom praise him in 
 all companies. As for Miss Biddy Bundle, she's his 
 professed admirer. 
 
 Miss Rich. Indeed ! an admirer ! I did not know, 
 sir, you were such a favourite there. But is she 
 seriously so handsome ? Is she the mighty thing 
 talked of ? 
 
 Honeywood. The town, madam, seldom begins to 
 praise a lady's beauty till she's beginning to lose it. 
 
 [Smiling. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. But she's resolved never to lose it, it 
 
116 THE GOOT)-NATTJBED MAN. 
 
 seems; for as her natural face decays, her skill im- 
 proves in making the artificial one. Well, nothing- 
 diverts me more than one of those fine old dressy 
 things, who thinks to conceal her age by everywhere 
 exposing her person ; sticking herself up in the front 
 of a side box ; trailing through a minuet at Almack's ; 
 and then, in the public gardens, looking for all the 
 world like one of the painted ruins of the place. 
 
 Honeywood. Every age has its admirers, ladies. 
 While you, perhaps, are trading among the warmer 
 climates of youth, there ought to be some to carry on a 
 useful commerce in the frozen latitudes beyond fifty. 
 
 Miss Rich. But then the mortifications they must 
 suffer before they can be fitted out for traffic! I 
 have seen one of them fret a whole morning at her 
 hairdresser, when all the fault was her face. 
 
 Honeywood. And yet, I'll engage, has carried that 
 face at last to a very good market. This good-natured 
 town, madam, has husbands, like spectacles, to fit 
 every age, from fifteen to fourscore. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. Well, you're a dear, good-natured 
 creature. But you know you're engaged with us this 
 morning upon a strolling party. I want to show 
 Olivia the town, and the things ; I believe I shall have 
 business for you for the whole day. 
 
 Honeywood. I am sorry, madam, I have -an appoint- 
 ment with Mr. Croaker, which it is impossible to put 
 off. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. What ! with my husband ? Then I'm 
 resolved to take no refusal. Nay, I protest you must. 
 You know I never laugh so much as with you. 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 117 
 
 Honey wood. Why, if I must, I must. I'll swear, 
 you have put me into such spirits. Well, do you find 
 jest, and I'll find laugh, I promise you. We'll wait 
 for the chariot in the next room. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter LEONTINE and OLIVIA. 
 
 Leont. There they go, thoughtless and happy, my 
 dearest Olivia. What would I give to see you capable 
 of sharing their amusements, and as cheerful as they 
 are ! 
 
 Olivia. How, my Leontine, how can I be cheerful, 
 when I have so many terrors to oppress me ? The 
 fear of being detected by this family, and the appre- 
 hensions of a censuring world, when I must be de- 
 tected 
 
 Leont. The world ! my love, what can it say ? At 
 worst, it can only say that, being compelled by a 
 mercenary guardian 7 to embrace a life you disliked, 
 you formed a resolution of flying with the man of 
 your choice ; that you confided in his honour, and took 
 refuge in my father's house ; the only one where yours 
 could remain without censure. 
 
 Olivia. But consider, Leontine, your disobedience 
 and my indiscretion : your being sent to France to 
 bring home a sister, and, instead of a sister, bringing 
 home 
 
 Leont. One dearer than a thousand sisters ; one that 
 I am convinced will be equally dear to the rest of the 
 family, when she comes to be known. 
 
 Olivia. And that, I fear, will shortly be. 
 
 Leont. Impossible, till we ourselves think proper to 
 
118 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 make the discovery. My sister, you know, has been 
 with her aunt, at Lyons, since she was a child ; and 
 you find every creature in the family takes you for 
 her. 
 
 Olivia. But mayn't she write? mayn't her aunt 
 write ? 
 
 Leont. Her aunt scarce ever writes, and all my 
 sister's letters are directed to me. 
 
 Olivia. But won't your refusing Miss E/ichland, for 
 whom you know the old gentleman intends you, create 
 a suspicion ? 
 
 Leont. There, there's my master-stroke. I have 
 resolved not to refuse her : nay, an hour hence I have 
 consented to go with my father, to make her an offer 
 of my heart and fortune. 
 
 Olivia. Your heart and fortune ! 
 
 Leont. Don't be alarmed, my dearest. Can Olivia 
 think so meanly of my honour, or my love, as to sup- 
 pose I could ever hope for happiness from any but 
 her ? No, my Olivia, neither the force, nor, permit 
 me to add, the delicacy of my passion, leaves any room 
 to suspect me. I only offer Miss Richland a heart I 
 am convinced she will refuse ; as I am confident that, 
 without knowing it, her affections are fixed upon Mr. 
 Hoiieywood. 
 
 Olivia. Mr. Honeywood ! You'll excuse my appre- 
 hensions, but when your merits come to be put in the 
 balance 
 
 Leont. You view them with too much partiality. 
 However, by making this offer. I show a seeming 
 compliance with my father's command ; and perhaps, 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 119 
 
 upon her refusal, I may have his consent to choose for 
 myself. 
 
 Olivia. Well, I submit. And yet, my Leontiiie, I 
 own I shall envy her even your pretended addresses. 
 I consider every look, every expression of your esteem, 
 as due only to me. This is folly, perhaps I allow it ; 
 but it is natural to suppose, that merit which has 
 made an impression on one's own heart may be power- 
 ful over that of another. 
 
 Leont. Don't, my life's treasure, don't let us make 
 imaginary evils, when you know we have so many 
 real ones to encounter. At worst, you know, if Miss 
 E/ichland should consent, or my father refuse his 
 pardon, it can but end in a trip to Scotland ; and 
 
 Enter CROAKER. 
 
 Croaker. "Where have you been, boy ? 1 have been 
 seeking you. My friend Honey wood here has been 
 saying such comfortable things. Ah ! he's an example 
 indeed. Where is he ? I left him here. 
 
 Leont. Sir, I believe you may see him, and hear him 
 too, in the next room ; he's preparing to go out with 
 the ladies. 
 
 Croaker. Good gracious ! can I believe my eyes or 
 my ears ? I'm struck dumb with his vivacity, and 
 stunned with the loudness of his laugh. Was there 
 ever such a transformation? [A laugh behind the 
 scenes ; CROAKER mimics it.'] Ha ! ha ! ha ! there it 
 goes ; a plague take their balderdash ! Yet I could 
 expect nothing less, when my precious wife was of the 
 
120 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 party. On my conscience, I believe she could spread 
 a horse-laugh through the pews of a tabernacle. 
 
 Leont. Since you find so many objections to a wife, 
 sir, how can you be so earnest in recommending one to 
 me? 
 
 Croaker. I have told you, and tell you again, boy, 
 that Miss Richland's fortune must not go out of the 
 family ; one may find comfort in the money whatever 
 one does in the wife. 
 
 Leont. But, sir, though, in obedience to your desire, 
 I am ready to marry her, it may be possible she has 
 no inclination to me. 
 
 Croaker. I'll tell you once for all how it stands. A 
 good part of Miss Richland's large fortune consists in 
 a claim upon Government, which my good friend, Mr. 
 Lofty, assures me the Treasury will allow. One half 
 of this she is to forfeit, by her father's will, in case 
 she refuses to marry you. So if she rejects you, we 
 seize half her fortune ; if she accepts you, we seize the 
 whole, and a fine girl into the bargain. 
 
 Leont. But, sir, if you will but listen to reason 
 
 Croaker. Come, then, produce your reasons. I tell 
 you I'm fixed determined, so now produce your 
 reasons. When I'm determined I always listen to 
 reason, because it can then do no harm. 
 
 Leont. You have alleged that a mutual choice was 
 the first requisite in matrimonial happiness 
 
 Croaker. Well, and you have both of you a mutual 
 choice. She has her choice to marry you, or lose half 
 her fortune ; and you have your choice to marry her, 
 or pack out of doors without any fortune at all. 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 121 
 
 Leont. An only son, sir, might expect more indul- 
 gence. 
 
 Croaker. An only father, sir, might expect more 
 obedience. Besides, has not your sister here, that 
 never disobliged me in her life, as good a right as you ? 
 He's a sad dog, Livy, my dear, and would take all 
 from you. But he shan't, I tell you he shan't, for you - 
 shall have your share. 
 
 Olivia. Dear sir, I wish you'd be convinced that I 
 can never be happy in any addition to my fortune which 
 is taken from his. 
 
 Croaker. Well, well, it's a good child; so say no 
 more, but come with me, and we shall see something 
 that will give us a great deal of pleasure, I promise 
 you old K/uggins, the curry-comb maker, lying in 
 state. I'm told he makes a very handsome corpse, and 
 becomes his coffin prodigiously. He was an intimate 
 friend of mine, and these are friendly things we ought 
 to do for each other. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. CROAKER'S House. 
 Miss HIGHLAND, GARNET. 
 
 Miss Rich. Olivia not his sister ? Olivia not Leoii- 
 tine's sister? You amaze me. 
 
 Garnet. No more his sister than I am. I had it all 
 from his own servant ; I can get anything from that 
 quarter. 
 
 Miss Rich. But how ? Tell me again, Garnet. 
 
122 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 Garnet. Why, madam, as I told you before, instead 
 of going to Lyons to bring home his sister, who has 
 been there with her aunt these ten years, he never went 
 farther than Paris ; there he saw and fell in love with 
 this young lady : by-the-by, of a prodigious family. 
 
 Miss Rich. And brought her home to my guardian, 
 as his daughter ? 
 
 Garnet. Yes, and daughter she will be. If he don't 
 consent to their marriage, they talk of trying what a 
 Scotch parson can do. 
 
 Miss. Rich. Well, I own they have deceived me : and 
 so demurely as Olivia carried it, tco ! Would you 
 believe it, Garnet, I told her all my secrets ; and yet 
 the sly cheat concealed all this from me. 
 
 Garnet. And, upon my word, madam, I don't much 
 blame her; she was loth to trust one with her secrets, 
 that was so very bad at keeping her own. 
 
 Miss Rich. But, to add to their deceit, the young 
 gentleman, it seems, pretends to make me serious pro- 
 posals. My guardian and he are to be here presently, 
 to open the affair in form. You know, I am to lose 
 half my fortune if I refuse him. 
 
 Garnet? Yet what can you do ? for being, as you are, 
 in love with Mr. Honey wood, madam - 
 
 Miss Rich. How, idiot ! what do you mean ? In 
 love with Mr. Honeyvvood ! Is this to provoke me ? 
 
 Garnet. That is, madam, in friendship with him ; 
 I meant nothing more than friendship, as I hope to be 
 married ; nothing-more. 
 
 Miss Rich. Well, no more of this. As to my 
 guardian and his son, they shall find me prepared to 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. ]23 
 
 receive them. I'm resolved to accept their proposal 
 with seeming pleasure, to mortify them by compliance, 
 and so throw the refusal at last upon them. 
 
 Garnet. Delicious ! and that will secure your whole 
 fortune to yourself. Well, who could have thought so 
 innocent a face could cover so much cuteness ? 
 
 Miss Rich. Why, girl, I only oppose my prudence to 
 their cunning, and practise a lesson they have taught 
 me against themselves. 
 
 Garnet. Then you're likely not long to want employ- 
 ment ; for here they come, and in close conference. 
 
 Enter CROAKER, LEONTINE. 
 
 Leont. Excuse me, sir, if I seem to hesitate upon the 
 point of putting to the lady so important a question. 
 
 Croaker. Good sir, moderate your fears ; you're so 
 plaguy shy, that one would think you had changed 
 sexes. I tell you, we must have the half or the whole. 
 Come, let me see with what spirit you begin. Well, 
 why don't you ? Eh ? What ? Well, then, I must, 
 it seems. Miss Bichland, my dear, I believe you guess 
 at our business ; an affair which my son comes here to 
 open, that nearly concerns your happiness. 
 
 Miss Rich. Sir, I should be ungrateful not to be 
 pleased with anything that comes recommended by 
 you. 
 
 Croaker. How, boy, could you desire a finer open- 
 ing ? Why don't you begin, I say ? [To LEONT. 
 
 Leont. 'Tis true, madam, my father, madam, has 
 some intentions hem of explaining an affair which 
 -himself can best explain, madam. 
 
124 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 Croaker. Yes, my dear ; it conies entirely from my 
 son ; it r s all a request of his own, madam. And I will 
 permit him to make the best of it. 
 
 Leont. The whole affair is only this, madam : my 
 father has a proposal to make, which he insists none 
 but himself shall deliver. 
 
 Croaker. My mind misgives me, the fellow will 
 never be brought on. \_Aside.~\ In short, madam, you 
 see before you one that loves you one whose whole 
 happiness is all in you. 
 
 Miss Rich. I never had any doubts of your regard, 
 sir ; and I hope you can have none of my duty. 
 
 Croaker. That's not the thing, my little sweeting, 
 my love. No, no ; another-guess lover than I. There 
 lie stands, madam. His very looks declare the force 
 
 of his passion Call up a look, you dog But then, 
 
 had you seen him, as I have, weeping, speaking solilo- 
 quies and blank verse, sometimes melancholy, and 
 sometimes absent 
 
 Miss Rich. I fear, sir, he's absent now ; or such a 
 declaration would have come most properly from him- 
 self. 
 
 Croaker. Himself, madam ! He would die before he 
 could make such a confession; and if he had not a 
 channel for his passion through me, it would ere now 
 have drowned his understanding. 
 
 Miss Rich. I must grant, sir, there are attractions in 
 modest diffidence above the force of words. A silent 
 address is the genuine eloquence of sincerity. 
 
 Croaker. Madam, he has forgot to speak any other 
 language ; silence is become his mother-tongue. 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 125 
 
 Miss Rich. And it must be confessed, sir, it speaks 
 very powerfully in his favour. And yet, I shall be 
 thought too forward in making such a confession, 
 shan't I, Mr. Leontine? 
 
 Leont. Confusion ! my reserve will undo me. But, 
 if modesty attracts her, impudence may disgust her. 
 I'll try. [Aside."] Don't imagine from my silence, 
 madam, that I want a due sense of the honour and 
 happiness intended me. My father, madam, tells me 
 your humble servant is not totally indifferent to you. 
 He admires you ; I adore you : and when we come to- 
 gether, upon my soul I believe we shall be the happiest 
 couple in all St. James's. 
 
 Miss Rich. If I could flatter myself you thought as 
 you speak, sir 
 
 Leont. Doubt my sincerity, madam ? By your dear 
 self I swear. Ask the brave if they desire glory, ask 
 cowards if they covet safety 
 
 Croaker. Well, well, no more questions about it. 
 
 Leont. Ask the sick if they long for health, ask 
 misers if they love .money, ask 
 
 Croaker. Ask a fool if he can talk nonsense ! What's 
 come over the boy ? What signifies asking, when 
 there's not a soul to give you an answer? If you 
 would ask to the purpose, ask this lady's consent to 
 make you happy. 
 
 Miss Rich. Why, indeed, sir, his uncommon ardour 
 almost compels me, forces me, to comply. And yet 
 I'm afraid he'll despise a conquest gained with too 
 much ease, won't you, Mr. Leontine ? 
 
 Leont. Confusion ! [Aside,] Oh, by uo means* 
 
126 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 madam by no means. And yet, madam, you talked 
 of force. There is nothing I would avoid so much as 
 compulsion in a thing of this kind. No, madam ; I will 
 still be generous, and leave you at liberty to refuse. 
 
 Croaker. But I tell you, sir, the lady is not at 
 liberty. It's a match. You see she says nothing. 
 Silence gives consent. 
 
 Leont. But, sir, she talked of force. Consider, sir, 
 the cruelty of constraining her inclinations. 
 
 Croaker. But I say there's no cruelty. Don't you 
 know, blockhead, that girls have always a round-about 
 way of saying Yes before company ? So get you both 
 gone together into the next room, and hang him that 
 interrupts the tender explanation. Get you gone, 
 I say ; I'll not hear a word. 
 
 Leont. But, sir, I must beg leave to insist 
 
 Croaker. Get on 2 , you puppy, or I'll beg leave to insist 
 upon knocking you down. Stupid whelp ! But I don't 
 wonder ; the boy takes entirely after his mother. 
 
 [Exeunt Miss HIGHLAND and LEONTINE. 
 
 Enter MRS. CROAKER. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. Mr. Croaker, I bring you something, 
 my dear, that I believe will make you smile. 
 
 Croaker. I'll hold you a guinea of that, my dear. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. A letter ; and, as I knew the hand, I 
 ventured to open it-. 
 
 Croaker. And how can you expect your breaking 
 open my letters should give me pleasure ? 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. Pooh, it's from your sister at Lyons* 
 and contains good news : read it. 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 127 
 
 Croaker. What a Frenchified cover is here ! That 
 sister of mine has some good qualities, but I could 
 never teach her to fold a letter. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. Fold a fiddlestick! Read what it 
 contains. 
 
 Croaker. [Reading.] 
 
 DEAR NICK, 
 
 An English gentleman, of large fortune, has for 
 some time made private, though honourable, proposals to your 
 daughter Olivia. They love each other tenderly, and I find 
 she has consented, without letting any of the family know, to 
 crown his addresses. As such good offers don't come every 
 day, your own good sense, his large fortune, and family con- 
 siderations, will induce you to forgive her. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 RACHEL CROAKER. 
 
 My daughter Olivia privately contracted to a man of 
 large fortune ! This is good news indeed. My heart 
 never foretold me of this. And yet, how slily the little 
 baggage has carried it since she came home ! Not a 
 word on't to the old ones, for the world ! Yet I thought 
 I saw something she wanted to conceal. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. Well, if they have concealed their 
 love-making, they shan't conceal their wedding ; that 
 shall be public, I'm resolved. 
 
 Croaker. I tell thee, woman, the wedding is the 
 most foolish part of the ceremony. I can never get 
 this woman to think of the more serious part of the 
 nuptial engagement. 
 
 Mrs. CroaJcer. What ! Would you have me think 
 of their funeral ? But come, tell me, my dear, don't 
 
128 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 you owe more to me than you care to confess ? Would 
 you have ever been known to Mr. Lofty, who has 
 undertaken Miss Richland's claim at the Treasury, 
 but for me ? "Who was it first made him an acquaint- 
 ance at Lady Shabbaroon's rout ? Who got him to 
 promise us his interest ? Is not he a back- stairs- 
 favourite, one that can do what he pleases with those that 
 do what they please ? Isn't he an acquaintance that 
 all your groaning and lamentations could never have 
 got us ? 
 
 Croaker. He is a man of importance, I grant you ; 
 and yet, what amazes me is, that while he is giving 
 away places to all the world, he can't get one for 
 himself. 
 
 Mrs, Croaker. That, perhaps, may be owing to his 
 nicety. Great men are not easily satisfied. 
 
 Enter FRENCH SERVANT. 
 
 Servant. An expresse from Monsieur Lofty. He vil 
 be vait upon your honours instammant. He be only 
 giving four five instruction, read two tree memorial, 
 call upon von ambassadeur. He vil be vid you in one 
 tree minutes. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. You see now, my dear, what an ex- 
 tensive department. Well, friend, let your master 
 know that we are extremely honoured by this honour. 
 Was there anything ever in a higher style of breeding ? 
 All messages among the great are now done by 
 express. 
 
 Croaker. To be sure, no man does little things with 
 more solemnity, or claims more respect, than he. But 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 129 
 
 he's in the right on't. In our bad world, respect is 
 given where respect is claimed. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. Never mind the world, my dear ; you 
 were never in a pleasaiiter place in your life. Let us 
 now think of receiving him with proper respect [a loud 
 rapping at the door} : and there he is, by the thunder- 
 ing rap. 
 
 Croaker. Ay, verily, there he is ; as close upon the 
 heels of his own express as an indorsement upon the 
 back of a bill. Well, I'll leave you to receive him, 
 whilst I go to chide my little Olivia for intending 
 to steal a marriage without mine or her aunt's consent. 
 I must seem to be angry, or she too may begin to 
 despise my authority. [Exit. 
 
 Enter LOFTY, speaking to his Servant. 
 
 Lofty. And if the Venetian ambassador, or that 
 teasing creature the marquis, should call, I'm not at 
 home. I'll be packhorse to none of them. My dear 
 madam, I have just snatched a moment. And if the 
 expresses to his grace be ready, let them be sent off ; 
 they're of importance. Madam, I ask a thousand 
 pardons. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. Sir, this honour 
 
 Lofty. And, Dubardieu, if the person calls about the 
 commission, let him know that it is made out. As for 
 Lord Cumbercourt's stale request, it can keep cold : 
 you understand me. Madam I ask ten thousand 
 pardons. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. Sir, this honour -- 
 
 Lofty. And, Dubardieu, if the man conies from the 
 E 19 
 
130 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 Cornish borough, you must do him ; you must do him, 
 I say. Madam, I ask ten thousand pardons. And if 
 the Russian ambassador calls but he will scarce call 
 to-day, I believe. And now, madam, I have just got 
 time to express my happiness in having the honour of 
 being permitted to profess myself your most obedient 
 humble servant. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. Sir, the happiness and honour are all 
 mine. And yet, I'm only robbing the public while I 
 detain you. 
 
 Lofty. Sink the public, madam, when the fair are to 
 be attended. Ah ! could all my hours be so charmingly 
 devoted ! Sincerely, don't you pity us poor creatures 
 in affairs ? Thus it is eternally : solicited for places 
 here, teased for pensions there, and courted everywhere. 
 I know you pity me. Yes, I see you do. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. Excuse me, sir. " Toils of empires 
 pleasures are," as Waller says. 
 
 Lofty. "Waller I "Waller ! Is he of the house ? 
 Mrs. Croaker. The modern poet of that name, sir. 
 Lofty. Oh, a modern ! We men of business despise 
 the moderns ; and as for the ancients, we have 110 time 
 to read them. Poetry is a pretty thing enough for our 
 wives and daughters ; but not for us. Why now, here 
 I stand that know nothing of books I say, madam, 
 I know nothing of books ; and yet, I believe, upon a 
 land-carriage fishery, a stamp act, or a jaghire, I can 
 talk my two hours without feeling the want of them. 
 Mrs. Croaker. The world is no stranger to Mr. 
 Lofty's eminence in every capacity. 
 
 Lofty. I vow, madam, you make me blush. I'm 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 131 
 
 nothing, nothing, nothing, in the world ; a mere ob- 
 scure gentleman. To be sure, indeed, one or two of 
 the present ministers are pleased to represent me as a 
 formidable man. I know they are pleased to bespatter 
 me at all their little dirty levees. Yet, upon my soul, 
 I wonder what they see in me to treat nie so. Measures, 
 not men, have always been my mark ; and I vow, by 
 all that's honourable, my resentment has never done 
 the men, as mere men, any manner of harm that is, 
 as mere men. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. What importance, and yet what 
 modesty. 
 
 Lofty. Oh, if you talk of modesty, madam, there, I 
 own, I'm accessible to praise : modesty is my foible ; 
 it was so, the Duke of Brentford used to say of me. 
 "I love Jack Lofty," he used to say : "no man has a 
 finer knowledge of things quite a man of information ; 
 and when he speaks upon his legs, he's prodigious ; he 
 scouts them. And yet, all men have their faults : too 
 much modesty is his," says his grace. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. And yet, I dare say, you don't want 
 assurance when you come to solicit for your friends. 
 
 Lofty. Oh, there indeed! I'm in bronze. Apropos, I 
 have just been mentioning Miss Kichland's case to a 
 certain personage we must name no names. When I 
 ask, I am not to be put off, madam. No, no, I take 
 my friend by the button. "A fine girl, sir; great 
 justice in her case. A friend of mine. Borough- 
 interest. Business must be done, Mr. Secretary. I 
 say, Mr. Secretary, her business must be done, sir." 
 That's my way, madam. 
 
132 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. Bless me ! you said all this to the 
 Secretary of State, did you ? 
 
 Lofty. I did not say the Secretary, did I ? Well, 
 since you have found me out, I will not deny it. It was 
 to the Secretary. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. This was going to the fountain-head 
 at once ; not applying to the understrappers, as Mr. 
 Honeywood would have had us. 
 
 Lofty. Honeywood ! he ! he ! He was, indeed, a fine 
 solicitor. I suppose you have heard wliab has just 
 happened to him ? 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. Poor, dear man ! no accident I hope ? 
 
 Lofty. Undone, madam, that's all. His creditors 
 have taken him into custody. A prisoner in his own 
 house. ' v 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. A prisoner in his own house ! How ? 
 At this very time H I'm quite unhappy for him. 
 
 Lofty. Why, so am I. The man, to be sure, was im- 
 mensely good-natured ; but then, I could never find that 
 he had anything in him. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. His manner, to be sure, was exces- 
 sively harmless some, indeed, thought it a little dull. 
 For my part, I always concealed my opinion. 
 
 Lofty. It can't be concealed, madam ; the man was 
 dull dull as the last new comedy ! A poor, impracti- 
 cable creature ! I tried once or twice to know if he was 
 fit for business, but he had scarce talents to be grooni- 
 porter to an orange-barrow. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. How differently does Miss Bichlaiid 
 think of him ! for I believe, with all his faults, she loves 
 him. 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 133 
 
 Lofty. Loves him ! Does she ? You should cure her 
 of that, by all means. Let me see : what if she were 
 sent to him this instant, in his present doleful situation? 
 My life for it, that works her cure. Distress is a per- 
 fect antidote to love. Suppose we join her in the next 
 room ? Miss Bichland is a fine girl, has a fine fortune, 
 and must not be thrown away. Upon my honour, 
 madam, I have a regard for Miss Richland ; and, rather 
 than she should be thrown away, I should think it no 
 indignity to marry her myself. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter OLIVIA and LEONTINE. 
 
 Leont. And yet, trust me, Olivia, I had every reason 
 to expect Miss Richland's refusal, as I did everything in 
 my power to deserve it. Her indelicacy surprises me. 
 
 Olivia. Sure, Leontine, there's nothing so indelicate 
 in being sensible of your merit. If so, I fear I shall 
 be the most guilty thing alive. 
 
 Leont. But you mistake, my dear. The same at- 
 tention I used to advance my merit with you, I 
 practised to lessen it with her. What more could I 
 do? 
 
 Olivia. Let us now rather consider what's to be 
 done. We have both dissembled too long. I have 
 always been ashamed, I am now quite weary of it. 
 Sure, I could never have undergone so much for any 
 other but you. 
 
 Leont. And you shall find my gratitude equal to 
 your kindest compliance. Though our friends should 
 totally forsake us, Olivia, we can draw upon content 
 for the deficiencies of fortune. 
 
134 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 Olivia. Then why should we defer our scheme of 
 humble happiness, when it is now in our power ? I 
 may be the favourite of your father, it is true ; but can 
 it ever be thought that his present kindness to a sup- 
 posed child will continue to a known deceiver ? 
 
 Leant. I have many reasons to believe it will. As 
 his attachments are but few, they are lasting. His 
 own marriage was a private one, as ours may be. Be- 
 sides, I have sounded him already at a distance, and 
 find all his answers exactly to our wish. Nay, by an 
 expression or two that dropped from him, I am induced 
 to think he knows of this affair. 
 
 Olivia. Indeed ! but that would be a happiness too 
 great to be expected. 
 
 Leont. However it be, I'm certain you have power 
 over him ; and am persuaded, if you informed him of 
 our situation, that he would be disposed to pardon it. 
 
 Olivia. You had equal expectations, Leoritine, from 
 your last scheme with Miss Eichland, which you find 
 lias succeeded most wretchedly. 
 
 Leont. And that's the best reason for trying 
 another. 
 
 Olivia. If it must be so, I submit. 
 
 Leont. As we could wish, he comes this way. Now, 
 my dearest Olivia, be resolute. I'll just retire within 
 hearing, to come in at a proper time, either to share 
 your danger or confirm your victory. [Exit. 
 
 Enter CROAKER. 
 
 Croaker. Yes, I must forgive her ; and yet not too 
 easily, neither. It will be proper to keep up the 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 135 
 
 decorums of resentment a little, if it be only to impress 
 her with an idea of my authority. 
 
 Olivia. How I tremble to approach him ! Might I 
 presume, sir, if I interrupt you 
 
 Croaker. ~No, child; where I have an aifection, it is 
 not a little thing can interrupt me. Affection gets 
 over little things. 
 
 Olivia. Sir, you're too kind. I'm sensible how ill 
 I deserve this partiality. Yet there is nothing I would 
 not do to gain it. 
 
 Croaker, And you have but too well succeeded, you 
 little hussy, you. With those endearing ways of 
 yours, on my conscience, I could be brought to forgive 
 anything, unless it were a very great offence indeed. 
 
 Olivia. But mine is such an offence. When you 
 
 know my guilt Yes, you shall know it, though I feel 
 
 the greatest pain in the confession. 
 
 Croaker. Why, then, if it be so very great a pain, 
 you may spare yourself the trouble, for I know every 
 syllable of the matter before you begin. 
 
 Olivia. Indeed ! Then I'm undone. 
 
 Croaker. Ay, miss, you wanted to steal a match, 
 without letting me know it, did you ? But I'm not 
 worth being consulted, I suppose, when there's to be a 
 marriage in my own family. No, I'm nobody. I'm to 
 be a mere article of family lumber ; a piece of crack'd 
 china to be stuck up in a corner. 
 
 Olivia. Dear sir, nothing but the dread of your 
 authority could induce us to conceal it from you. 
 
 Croaker. No, no, my consequence is no more ; I'm as 
 little minded as a dead Russian in winter, just stuck 
 
136 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 up with a pipe in its mouth till there comes a thaw - 
 It goes to my heart to vex her. [Aside. 
 
 Olivia. I was prepared, sir, for your anger, and 
 despaired of pardon, even while I presumed to ask it. 
 But your severity shall never abate my affection, as my 
 punishment is but justice. 
 
 Croaker. And yet you should not despair neither, 
 Livy. We ought to hope all for the best. 
 
 Olivia. And do you permit me to hope, sir ? Can I 
 ever expect to be forgiven ? But hope has too long 
 deceived me. 
 
 Croaker. Why, then, child, it shan't deceive you 
 now, for I forgive you this very moment ; I forgive 
 you all ; and now you are indeed my daughter. 
 
 Olivia. Oh, transport ! This kindness overpowers 
 me. 
 
 Croaker. I was always against severity to our chil- 
 dren. We have been young and giddy ourselves, and 
 we can't expect boys and girls to be old before their 
 time. 
 
 Olivia. What generosity ! But can you forget the 
 many falsehoods the dissimulation 
 
 Croaker. You did indeed dissemble, you urchin, 
 you ; but where's the girl that won't dissemble for a 
 husband? My wife and I had never been married, 
 if we had not dissembled a little beforehand. 
 
 Olivia. Tt shall be my future care never to put such 
 generosity to a second trial. And as for the partner 
 of my offence and folly, from his native honour, and 
 the just sense he has of his duty, I can answer for him 
 that 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 137 
 
 Enter LEON TINE. 
 
 Leont. Permit him thus to answer for himself. 
 [Kneeling^] Thus, sir, let me speak my gratitude for 
 this unmerited forgiveness. Yes, sir, this even ex- 
 ceeds all your former tenderness : I can now boast the 
 most indulgent of fathers. The life he gave, compared 
 to this, was but a trifling blessing. 
 
 Croaker. And, good sir, who sent for you, with that 
 fine tragedy face, and flourishing manner? I don't 
 know what we have to do with your gratitude upon 
 this occasion. 
 
 Leont. How, sir, is it possible to be silent when so 
 much obliged ? Would you refuse me the pleasure of 
 being grateful ? of adding my thanks to iny Olivia's ? 
 of sharing in the transports that you have thus 
 occasioned ? 
 
 Croaker. Sir, we can be happy enough, without your 
 coming in to make up the party. I don't know what's 
 the matter with the boy all this day ; he has got into 
 such a rhodomoiitade manner all the morning ! 
 
 Leont. But, sir, I that have so large a part in the 
 benefit, is it not my duty to show my joy? Is the 
 being admitted to your favour so slight an obligation ? 
 Is the happiness of marrying my Olivia so small a 
 blessing ? 
 
 Croaker. Marrying Olivia ! marrying Olivia ! marry- 
 ing his own sister ! Sure the boy is out of his senses ! 
 His own sister ! 
 
 Leont. My sister ! 
 
 Olivia. Sister! How have I been mistaken. [Aside. 
 
 Leont. Some mistake in all this. I find. [Aside. 
 
 E* 19 
 
138 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 Croaker. What does the booby mean, or has he any 
 meaning? Eh? what do you mean, you blockhead, 
 you? 
 
 Leont. Mean, sir? why, sir only when my sister 
 is to be married, that I have the pleasure of marrying 
 her, .sir ; that is, of giving her away, sir I have made 
 a point of it. 
 
 Croaker. Oh, that is all? (rive her away. Yon 
 have made a point of it. Then you had as good make 
 a point of first giving away yourself, as I'm going to 
 prepare the writings between you and Miss E/ichland 
 this very minute. What a fuss is here about nothing ! 
 Why, what's the matter now ? I thought I had made 
 you at least as happy as you ^ould wish. 
 
 Olivia. Oh ! yes, sir, very happy. 
 
 Croaker. Do you foresee anything, child? You 
 look as if you did. I think if anything was to be 
 foreseen, I have as sharp a look-out as another ; and 
 yet I foresee nothing. [Exit. 
 
 LEONTINE, OLIVIA. 
 
 Olivia. What can it mean ? 
 
 Leont. He knows something, and yet for my life I 
 can't tell what. 
 
 Olivia. It can't be the connection between us, I'm 
 pretty certain. 
 
 Leont. Whatever it be, my dearest, I'm resolved to 
 put it out of Fortune's power to repeat our mortifica- 
 tion. I'll haste, and prepare for our journey to 
 Scotland this very evening. My friend Honeywood 
 has promised me his advice and assistance. I'll go to 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 139 
 
 him, and repose our distresses on his friendly bosom : 
 and I know so much of his honest heart, that if he can't 
 relieve our uneasinesses, he will at least share them. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. YOUNG HONEYWOOD'S House. 
 BAILIFF, HONEYWOOD, FOLLOWER. 
 
 Bailiff, Look-ye, sir, I have arrested as good men as 
 you in my time; no disparagement of you, neither. 
 Men that would go forty guineas on a game of cribbage. 
 I challenge the town to show a man in more genteeler 
 practice than myself. 
 
 Honeywood. Without all question, Mr. . I forget 
 
 your name, sir ? 
 
 Bailiff. How can you forget what you never knew ? 
 He ! he ! he ! 
 
 Honeywood. May I beg leave to ask your name ? 
 
 Bailiff. Yes, you may. 
 
 Honeywood. Then, pray, sir, what is your name ? 
 
 Bailiff. That I didn't promise to tell you. He ! he ! 
 he ! A joke breaks no bones, as we say among us that 
 practise the law. 
 
 Honeywood. You may have reason for keeping it a 
 secret, perhaps. 
 
 Bailiff. The law does nothing without reason. I'm 
 ashamed to tell iny name to no man. sir. If you can 
 show cause, as why, upon a special capus. that I should 
 prove my name . But, come, Timothy Twitch is 
 
140 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 my name. And now you know my name) what have 
 you to say to that ? 
 
 Honeywood. Nothing in the world, good Mr. Twitch, 
 but that I have a favour to ask, that's all. 
 
 Bailiff. Ay, favours are more easily asked than 
 granted, as we say among us that practise the law. I 
 have taken an oath against granting favours. Would 
 you have me perjure myself ? 
 
 Honeywood. But iny request will come recommended 
 in so strong a manner, as, I believe, you'll have no 
 scruple. [Pulling out his purse.'] The thing is only 
 this : I believe I shall be able to discharge this trifle 
 in two or three days at farthest ; but as I would not 
 have the affair known for the world, I have thought of 
 keeping you, and your good friend here, about me till 
 the debt is discharged; for which I shall be properly 
 grateful. 
 
 Bailiff. Oh ! thafs another maxum, and altogether 
 within my oath. For certain, if an honest man is to 
 get anything by a thing, there's no reason why all 
 things should not be done in civility. 
 
 Honeywood. Doubtless, all trades must live, Mr. 
 Twitch ; and yours is a necessary one. [Gives him 
 money.'] 
 
 Bailiff. Oh ! your honour ; I hope your honour takes 
 nothing amiss as I does, as I does nothing but my duty 
 in so doing. I'm sure no man can say I ever give a 
 gentleman, that was a gentleman, ill usage. If I saw 
 that a gentleman was a gentleman, I have taken money 
 not to see him for ten weeks together. 
 
 Honeywood. Tenderness is a virtue, Mr. Twitch. 
 
THE GOOD-NATTTRED MAN. HI 
 
 Bailiff. A j, sir, it's a perfect treasure. I love to see 
 a gentleman with a tender heart. I don't know, but I 
 think I have a tender heart myself. If all that I have 
 lost by my heart was put together, it would make a- 
 but no matter for that. 
 
 Honeywood. Don't account it lost, Mr. Twitch. The 
 ingratitude of the world can never deprive us of the con- 
 scious happiness of having acted with humanity our- 
 selves. 
 
 Bailiff. Humanity, sir, is a jewel. It's better than 
 gold. I love humanity. People may say that we, in 
 our way, have no humanity; but I'll show you my 
 humanity this moment. There's my follower/ here, 
 little Flanigan, with a wife and four children : a guinea 
 or two would be more to him than twice as much to 
 another. Now, as I can't show him any humanity 
 myself, I must beg leave you'll do it for me. 
 
 Honeywood. I assure you, Mr. Twitch, yours is a 
 most powerful recommendation. \_Giving money to the 
 Follower.~\ 
 
 Bailiff. Sir, you're a gentleman. I see you know 
 what to do with your money. But to business : we 
 are to be here as your friends, I suppose. But set in 
 case company comes. Little Flanigan here, to be sure, 
 has a good face ; a very good face : but then, he is a 
 little seedy, as we say among us that practise the law. 
 Not well in clothes. Smoke the pocket-holes. 
 
 Honeywood. Well, that shall be remedied without 
 delay. 
 
 Enter SERVANT. 
 
 Servant. Sir, Miss Richland is below. 
 
142 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 Honey wood. How unlucky ! Detain her a moment. 
 We must improve my good friend little Mr. Flanigan's 
 appearance first. Here, let Mr. Flanigan. have a suit 
 of my clothes quick the brown and silver. Do you 
 hear? 
 
 Servant. That your honour gave away to the begging 
 gentleman that makes verses, because it was as good as 
 new. 
 
 Honeywood. The white and gold, then. 
 
 Servant. That, your honour, I made bold to sell, 
 because it was good for nothing. 
 
 Honeywood. Well, the first that comes to hand, then : 
 the blue and gold. I believe Mr. Flanigan will look 
 best in blue. [Exit FLANIGAN. 
 
 Bailiff. Babbit me, but little Flanigan will look well 
 in anything. Ah, if your honour knew that bit of 
 flesh as well as I do, you'd be perfectly in love with 
 him. There's not a prettier scout in the four counties 
 after a shy-cock than he. Scents like a hound ; sticks 
 like a weasel. He was master of the ceremonies to the 
 black Queen of Morocco, when I took him to follow 
 me. [Re-enter FLANIGAN.] Heh, I think he looks so 
 well, that I don't care if I have a suit from the same 
 place for myself. 
 
 Honeywood. Well, well, I hear the lady coming. 
 Dear Mr. Twitch, I beg you'll give your friend direc- 
 tions not to speak. As for yourself, I know you will 
 say nothing without being directed. 
 
 Bailiff. Never you fear me, I'll show the lady that 
 1 have something to say for myself as well as 
 another. One man has one way of talking, and 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 143 
 
 another man lias another ; that's all the difference 
 between them. 
 
 Enter Miss RICHLAND and her Maid. 
 
 Miss Rich. You'll be surprised, sir, with this visit. 
 But you know I'm yet to thank you for choosing my 
 little library. 
 
 Honeywood. Thanks, madam, are unnecessary, as it 
 was I that was obliged by your commands. Chairs 
 here. Two of my very good friends, Mr. Twitch and 
 Mr. Flanigan. Pray, gentlemen, sit without cere- 
 mony. 
 
 Miss Rich. Who can these odd-looking men be ? 1 
 fear it is as I was informed. It must be so. [Aside. 
 
 Bailiff. [After a pause.] Pretty weather, very pretty 
 weather, for the time of the year, madam. 
 
 Follower. Very good circuit weather in the country. 
 
 Honeywood. You officers are generally favourites 
 among the ladies. My friends, madam, have been upon 
 very disagreeable duty, I assure you. The fair should, 
 in some measure, recompense the toils of the brave. 
 
 Miss Rich. Our officers do indeed deserve every 
 favour. The gentlemen are in the marine service, I 
 presume, sir ? 
 
 Honeywood. Why, madam, they do occasionally 
 serve in the Fleet, madam : a dangerous service. 
 
 Miss Rich. I'm told so. And I own it has often 
 surprised me that, while we have had so many instances 
 of bravery there, we have had so few of wit at home 
 to praise it. 
 
 Honeywood. I grant, madam, that our poets have 
 
144 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 not written as our soldiers have fought ; but they have 
 done all they could, and Hawke or Amherst could do 
 no more. 
 
 Miss Rich. I'm quite displeased when I see a fine 
 subject spoiled by a dull writer. 
 
 Honeywood. We should not be so severe against dull 
 writers, madam. It is ten to one, but the dullest writer 
 exceeds the most rigid French critic who presumes to 
 despise him. 
 
 Follower. the French, the parle vous, and all 
 
 that belong to them ! 
 
 Miss Rich. Sir". 
 
 Honeywood. Ha ! ha ! ha ! honest Mr. Flanigan. A 
 true English officer, madam ; he's not contented with 
 beating the French, but he will scold them too. 
 
 Miss Rich. Yet, Mr. Honeywood, this does not con- 
 vince me but that severity in criticism is necessary. 
 It was our first adopting the severity of French taste 
 that has brought them in turn to taste us. 
 
 Bailiff. Taste us, madam ! they devour us. Give 
 Monseers but a taste, and they come in for a bellyful. 
 
 Miss Rich: Very extraordinary, this. 
 
 Follower. But very true. What makes the bread 
 rising ? the parle vous that devour us. What makes 
 the mutton fivepence a pound ? the parle vous that 
 eat it up. What makes the beer threepence-halfpenny 
 a pot 
 
 Honeywood. Ah ! the vulgar rogues ! All will be 
 out. [Aside.'] K/ight, gentlemen, very right, upon my 
 word, and quite to the purpose. They draw a parallel, 
 madam, between the mental taste and that of our senses. 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. _ 145 
 
 We are injured as much by French severity in the one, 
 as by French rapacity in the other. That's their 
 meaning. 
 
 Miss Rich. Though I don't see the force of the 
 parallel, yet I'll own that we should sometimes pardon 
 books, as we do our friends, that have now and then 
 agreeable absurdities to recommend them. 
 
 Bailiff. That's all my eye. The king only can 
 pardon, as the law says ; for set in case 
 
 Honeywood. I'm quite of your opinion, sir. I see 
 the whole drift of your argument. Yes, certainly, our 
 presuming to pardon any work is arrogating the power 
 that belongs to another. If all have power to condemn, 
 what writer can be free ? 
 
 Bailiff. By his habus corpus. His habus corpus can 
 set him free at any time. For set in case 
 
 Honeywood. I'm obliged to you, sir, for the hint. If, 
 madam, as my friend observes, our laws are so careful 
 of a gentleman's person, sure we ought to be equally 
 careful of his dearer part, his fame. 
 
 Follower. Ay, but if so be a man's nabbed, you 
 know 
 
 Honeywood. Mr. Flanigan, if you spoke for ever, 
 you could not improve the last observation. For my 
 own part, I think it conclusive. 
 
 Bailiff. As for the matter of that, mayhap 
 
 Honeywood. Nay, sir, give me leave in this instance 
 to be positive. For where is the necessity of censuring 
 works without genius, which must shortly sink of 
 themselves ? what is it, but aiming an unnecessary blow 
 against a victim already under the hands of justice ? 
 
146 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN, 
 
 Bailiff. Justice ! Oh, by the elevens, if you talk 
 about justice, I think I am at home there ; for, in a 
 course of law 
 
 Honeywood. My dear Mr. Twitch, I discern what 
 you'd be at perfectly, and I believe" the lady must be 
 sensible of the art with which it is introduced. I 
 suppose you perceive the meaning, madam, of his 
 course of law ? 
 
 Miss Rich. I protest, sir, I do not. I perceive only 
 that you answer one gentleman before he has finished, 
 end the other before he has well begun. 
 
 Bailiff. Madam, you are a gentlewoman, and I will 
 make the matter out. This here question is about 
 severity, and justice, and pardon, and the like of they. 
 Itfow, to explain the thing 
 
 Honeywood. Oh ! your explanations. [Aside. ,] 
 
 Enter SERVANT. 
 
 Servant. Mr. Leontine, sir, below, desires to speak 
 with you upon earnest business. 
 
 Honeywood. That's lucky. [Aside.'] Dear madam, 
 you'll excuse me and my good friends here for a few 
 minutes. There are books, madam, to amuse you. 
 Come, gentlemen, you know I make no ceremony with 
 such friends. After you, sir. Excuse me. Well, if I 
 must ; but I know your natural politeness. 
 
 Bailiff. Before and behind, you know. 
 
 Follower. Ay, ay, before and behind before and 
 behind ! [Exeunt HONEYWOOD, BAILIFF, and FOL- 
 LOWER. 
 
 Miss Rich. What can all this mean, Garnet ? 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 147 
 
 Garnet. Mean, madam ? why, what should it mean, 
 but what Mr. Lofty sent you. here to see ? These 
 people he calls officers are officers sure enough : 
 sheriff's officers bailiffs, madam. 
 
 Miss Rich. Ay, it is certainly so. Well, though his 
 perplexities are far from giving me pleasure, yet I own 
 there's something very ridiculous in them, and a just 
 punishment for his dissimulation. 
 
 Garnet. And so they are. But I wonder, madam, 
 that the lawyer you just employed to pay his debts and 
 set him free, has not done it by this time. He ought 
 at least to have been here before now. But lawyers 
 are always more ready to get a man into troubles than 
 out of them. 
 
 Enter SIR WILLIAM. 
 
 Sir Will. For Miss Bichland to undertake setting 
 him free, I own, was quite unexpected. It has totally 
 unhinged my schemes to reclaim him. Yet it gives me 
 pleasure to find that, among a number of worthless 
 friendships, he has made one acquisition of real value ; 
 for there must be some softer passion on her side that 
 prompts this generosity. Ha! here before me! I'll 
 endeavour to sound her affections. Madam, as I am 
 the person that have had some demands upon the 
 gentleman of this house, I hope you'll excuse me if, 
 before I enlarged him ; I wanted to see yourself. 
 
 Miss Rich. The precaution was very unnecessary, 
 sir. I suppose your wants were only such as my agent 
 had power to satisfy ? 
 
 Sir Will. Partly, madam. But I was also willing 
 
148 
 
 THE GOOD-NATUBED MAN. 
 
 you should be fully apprised of the character of the 
 gentleman you intended to serve. 
 
 Miss Rich. It must come, sir, with a very ill grace 
 from you. To censure it, after what you have done, 
 would look like malice ; and to speak favourably of a 
 character you have oppressed would be impeaching 
 your own. And sure, his tenderness, his humanity, 
 his universal friendship, may atone for many faults. 
 
 Sir Will. That friendship, madam, which is exerted 
 in too wide a sphere becomes totally useless. Our 
 bounty, like a drop of water, disappears when diffused 
 too widely. They who pretend most to this universal 
 benevolence are either deceivers or dupes men who 
 desire to cover their private ill-nature by a pretended 
 regard for all ; or men who, reasoning themselves into 
 false feelings, are more earnest in pursuit of splendid 
 than of useful virtues. 
 
 Miss Rich. I am surprised, sir, to hear one who has 
 probably been a gainer by the folly of others, so severe 
 in his censure of it. 
 
 Sir Will. Whatever I may have gained by folly, 
 madam, you see I am willing to prevent your losing 
 by it. 
 
 Miss Rich. Your cares for me, sir, are unnecessary. 
 I always suspect those services which are denied where 
 they are wanted, and offered, perhaps, in hopes of a 
 refusal. No, sir, my directions have been given, and I 
 insist upon their being complied with. 
 
 Sir Will. Thou amiable woman! I can no longer 
 contain the expressions of my gratitude my pleasure, 
 see before you one who has been equally careful of 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 149 
 
 his interest one who has for some time been a con- 
 cealed spectator of his follies, and only punished in 
 hope to reclaim them his uncle. 
 
 Miss Rich. Sir William Honeywood ! You amaze 
 me. How shall I conceal my confusion ? I fear, sir, 
 you'll think I have been too forward in my services. 
 I confess I 
 
 Sir Will- Don't make any apologies, madam. I 
 only find myself unable to repay the obligation. And 
 yet I have been trying my interest of late to serve you . 
 Having learnt, madam, that you had some demands 
 upon Government, I have, though unasked, been your 
 solicitor there. 
 
 Miss Rich. Sir, I am infinitely obliged to your in- 
 tentions ; but my guardian has employed another 
 gentleman, who assures him of success. 
 
 Sir Will. Who ? the important little man that visits 
 here? Trust me, madam, he's quite contemptible 
 among men in power, and utterly unable to serve you. 
 Mr. Lofty's promises are much better known to people 
 of fashion than his person, I assure you. 
 
 Miss Rich. How have we been deceived ! As sure 
 as can be, here he conies. 
 
 Sir Will. Does he? Remember, I'm to continue 
 unknown. My return to England has not as yet been 
 made public. With what impudence he enters ! 
 
 Enter LOFTY. 
 
 Lofty. Let the chariot let my chariot drive off ; 
 I'll visit to his Grace's in a chair. Miss Richland here 
 before me ! Punctual, as usual, to the calls of humanity. 
 
150 THE GOOD-NATUBED MAN. 
 
 I'm very sorry, madam, things of this kind should 
 happen, especially to a man I have shown everywhere, 
 and carried amongst us as a particular acquaintance. 
 
 Miss Rich. I find, sir, you have the art of making 
 the misfortunes of others your own. 
 
 Lofty. My dear madam, what can a private man like 
 me do P One man can't do everything ; and then I do 
 so much in this way every day. Let me see, something 
 considerable might be done for him by subscription ; it 
 could not fail if I carried the list. I'll undertake to 
 set down a brace of dukes, two dozen lords, and half 
 the Lower House, at my own peril. 
 
 Sir Will. And after all, it is more than probable, 
 sir, he migiit reject the offer of such powerful patron- 
 age. 
 
 Lofty. Then, madam, what can we do ? You know 
 I never make promises. In truth, I once or twice tried 
 to do something with him in the way of business ; but, 
 as I often told his uncle, Sir William Honey wood, the 
 man was utterly impracticable. 
 
 Sir Will. His uncle ! Then that gentleman, I sup- 
 pose, is a particular friend of yours ? 
 
 Lofty. Meaning me, sir ? Yes, madam, as I often 
 said, My dear Sir William, you are sensible I would 
 do anything, as far as my poor interest goes, to serve 
 your family ; but what can be done ? There's no pro- 
 curing first-rate places for ninth-rate abilities. 
 
 Miss Rich. I have heard of Sir William Houeywood ; 
 he's abroad in employment. He confided in your 
 judgment, I suppose ? 
 
 Lofty. Why, yes, madam; I believe Sir William 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 151 
 
 had some reason to confide in my judgment : one little 
 reason, perhaps. 
 
 Miss Rich. Pray, sir, what was it ? 
 
 Lofty. Why, madam but let it go no further it 
 was I procured him his place. 
 
 SIT Will. Did you, sir ? 
 
 Lofty. Either you or I, sir. 
 
 Miss Rich. This, Mr. Lofty, was very kind, indeed. 
 
 Lofty. I did love him, to be sure ; he had some 
 amusing qualities : no man was fitter to be toastmaster 
 to a club, or had a better head. 
 
 Miss Rich. A better head ? 
 
 Lofty. Ay, at a bottle. To be sure, he was as dull 
 as a choice spirit ; but, hang it, he was grateful, very 
 grateful ; and gratitude hides a multitude of faults. 
 
 Sir Will. He might have reason, perhaps. His place 
 is pretty considerable, I'm told. 
 
 Lofty. A trifle, a mere trifle among us men of busi- 
 ness. The truth is, he wanted dignity to fill up a 
 greater. 
 
 Sir Will. Dignity of person, do you mean, sir ? I'm 
 told he's much about my size and figure, sir. 
 
 Lofty. Ay, tall enough for a marching regiment; 
 but then he wanted a something a consequence of 
 form a kind of a I believe the lady perceives my 
 meaning. 
 
 Miss Rich. Oh, perfectly ; you courtiers can do any- 
 thing, I see. 
 
 Lofty. My dear madam, all this is but a mere ex- 
 change; we do greater things for one another every 
 day. Why, as thus, now : let me suppose you the First 
 
152 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 Lord of the Treasury. You have an employment in 
 you that I want ; I have a place in me that you want ; 
 do me here, do you there : interest of both sides, few 
 words, flat, done and done, and it's over. 
 
 Sir Will. A thought strikes me. [Aside.'] Now 
 you mention Sir William Honeywood, madam, and as 
 he seems, sir, an acquaintance of yours, you'll be glad 
 to hear he's arrived from Italy. I had it from a friend 
 who knows him as well as he does me, and you may 
 depend on my information. 
 
 Lofty. If I had known that, we should not have been 
 quite so well acquainted. [Aside.~\ 
 
 Sir Will. He is certainly returned; and as this 
 gentleman is a friend of yours, he can be of signal 
 service to us, by introducing me to him. There are 
 some papers relative to your affairs that require dis- 
 patch and his inspection. 
 
 Miss Rich. This gentleman, Mr. Lofty, is a person 
 employed in my affairs. I know you'll serve us. 
 
 Lofty. My dear madam, I live but to serve you. Sir 
 William shall even wait upon him, if you think proper 
 to command it. 
 
 Sir Will. That would be quite unnecessary. 
 
 Lofty. Well, we must introduce you, then. Call upon 
 me let me see ay, in two days. 
 
 Sir Will. Now, or the opportunity will be lost for ever. 
 
 Lofty. Well, if it must be now, now let it be. But 
 
 that's unfortunate ; my Lord Grig's - Pensa- 
 
 cola business comes on this very hour, and I'm engaged 
 to attend. Another time 
 
 Sir Will. A short letter to Sir William will do. 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 153 
 
 Lofty. You shall have it. Yet, in my opinion, a 
 letter is a very bad way of going to work ; face to face, 
 that's my way. 
 
 Sir Will. The letter, sir, will do quite as well. 
 
 Lofty. Zounds, sir, do you pretend to direct me ? 
 direct me in the business of office ? Do you know me, 
 sir ? who I am ? 
 
 Miss Rich. Dear Mr. Lofty, this request is not. so 
 
 much his as mine. If my commands But you 
 
 despise my power. 
 
 Lofty. Delicate creature ! your commands could even 
 control a debate at midnight ; to a power so constitu- 
 tional I am all obedience and tranquillity. He shall 
 have a letter. Where is my secretary ? Dubardieu ! 
 And yet, I protest, I don't like this way of doing 
 
 business. I think if I spoke first to Sir William 
 
 But you will have it so. [Exit with Miss RICH. 
 
 SIR WILLIAM, alone. 
 
 Sir Will. Ha ! ha ! ha ! This, too, is one of my 
 nephew's hopeful associates. O vanity, thou constant 
 deceiver, how do all thy efforts to exalt serve but to 
 sink us ! thy false colourings, like those employed to 
 heighten beauty, only seem to mend that bloom which 
 they contribute to destroy. I'm not displeased at this 
 interview : exposing this fellow's impudenc3 to the 
 contempt it deserves may be of use to my design ; at 
 least, if he can reflect, it will be of use to himself. 
 
 Enter JAR vis. 
 
 Sir Will. How now, Jarvis ; where's your master, my 
 nephew ? 
 
154 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 Jarvis. At his wit's end, I believe. He's scarce 
 gotten out of one scrape but lie's running his head into 
 another. 
 
 Sir Will How so? 
 
 Jarvis. The house has but just been cleared ot the 
 bailiffs, and now he's again engaging tooth and nail in 
 assisting old Croaker's son to patch up a clandestine 
 match with the young lady that passes in the house for 
 his sister. 
 
 Sir Will. Ever busy to serve others. 
 
 Jarvis. Ay, anybody but himself. The young couple, 
 it seems, are just setting out for Scotland, and he sup- 
 plies them with money for the journey. 
 
 Sir Will. Money ! How is he able to supply others, 
 who has scarce any for himself ? 
 
 Jarvis. Why, there it is; he has no money, that's 
 true ; but then, as he never said No to any request in 
 his life, he has given them a bill drawn by a friend of 
 his upon a merchant in the City, which I am to get 
 changed ; for you must know that I am to go with them 
 to Scotland myself. 
 
 Sir Will. How ! 
 
 Jarvis. It seems the young gentleman is obliged to 
 take a different road from his mistress, as he is to call 
 upon an uncle of his that lives out of the way, in order 
 to prepare a place for their reception when they 
 return; so they have borrowed me from my master, 
 as the properest person to attend the young lady 
 down. 
 
 Sir Will. To the land of matrimony ! A pleasant 
 journey, Jarvis. 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 155 
 
 Jarvis. Ay, but I'm only to have all the fatigues 
 on't. 
 
 Sir Will. Well, it may be shorter and less fatiguing 
 than you imagine. I know but too much of the young 
 lady's family and connections, whom I have seen 
 abroad. I have also discovered that Miss Bichland is 
 not indifferent to my thoughtless nephew ; and will en- 
 deavour though, I fear, in vain to establish that con- 
 nection. But come; the letter I wait for must be 
 almost finished ; I'll let you further into my intentions 
 in the next room. [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT IT. 
 
 SCENE I. CROAKER'S House. 
 
 Lofty. Well, sure the is in me of late, f 03 run- 
 ning my head into such defiles, as nothing but a genius 
 like my own could draw me from. I was formerly 
 contented to husband out my places and pensions with 
 some degree of frugality ; but of late I have given 
 away the whole Court Register in less time than they 
 could print the title page ; yet, hang it, why scruple a 
 lie or two to come at a fine girl, when I every day tell 
 a thousand for nothing ! Ha ! Honeywood here be- 
 fore me. Could Miss Richland have set him at 
 liberty? 
 
 Enter HONEYWOOD. 
 
 Mr. Honeywood, Pm glad to see you abroad again. 
 I find my concurrence was not necessary in your unfor- 
 tunate affairs. I had put things in a train to do your 
 
156 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 business ; but it is not for me to say what I intended 
 doing. 
 
 Honeywood. It was unfortunate indeed, sir. But 
 what adds to my uneasiness is, that while you seem to 
 be acquainted with my misfortune, I myself continue 
 still a stranger to my benefactor. 
 
 Lofty. How ! not know the friend that served you ? 
 
 Honeywood. Can't guess at the person. 
 
 Lofty. Inquire. 
 
 Honeywood. I have ; but all I can learn is, that he 
 chooses to remain concealed, and that all inquiry must 
 be fruitless. 
 
 Lofty. Must be fruitless ? 
 
 Honeywood. Absolutely fruitless. 
 
 Lofty. Sure of that ? 
 
 Honeywood. Very sure. 
 
 Lofty. Then you shall never know it from ma 
 
 Honeywood. How, sir? 
 
 Lofty. I suppose now, Mr. Honeywood, you think my 
 rent-roll very considerable, and that I have vast sums 
 of money to throw away ; I know you do. The world, 
 to be sure, say, such things of me. 
 
 Honeywood. The world, by what I learn, is no 
 stranger to your generosity. But where does this 
 tend? 
 
 Lofty. To nothing nothing in the world. The town, 
 to be sure, when it makes such a thing as me the sub- 
 ject of conversation, has asserted that I never yet 
 patronised a man of merit. 
 
 Honeywood. I have heard instances to the contrary, 
 even from yourself. 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 157 
 
 Lofty. Yes, Honeywood, and there are instances to 
 the contrary that you shall never hear from myself. 
 
 Honeywood. Ha! Dear sir, permit me to ask you but 
 one question. 
 
 Lofty. Sir, ask me no questions : I say, sir, ask me 
 no questions ; I'll not answer them. 
 
 Honeyivood. I will ask no further. My friend, my 
 benefactor, it is, it must be here that I am indebted 
 for freedom for honour. Yes, thou worthiest of men, 
 from the beginning I suspected it, but was afraid to 
 return thanks; which, if undeserved might seem 
 reproaches. 
 
 Lofty. I protest, I don't understand all this, Mr. 
 Honeywood. You treat me very cavalierly, I do 
 assure you, sir. Blood, sir ! can't a man be permitted 
 to enjoy the luxury of his own feelings without all 
 this parade ? 
 
 Honeywood. Nay, do not attempt to conceal an 
 action that adds to your honour. Your looks, your 
 air, your manner, all confess it. 
 
 Lofty. Confess it, sir ? Torture itself, sir, shall 
 never bring me to confess it. Mr. Honeywood, I have 
 admitted you upon terms of friendship. Don't let us 
 fall out; make me happy, and let this be buried in 
 oblivion. You know I hate ostentation ; you know I 
 do. Come, come, Honeywood, you know I always 
 loved to be a friend, and not a patron. I beg this 
 may make no kind of distance between us. Come, 
 come ; you and I must be more familiar indeed we 
 must. 
 
 Honeywood. Heavens 1 Can 1 ever repay such 
 
158 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 friendship ? Is there any way ? Thou best of men, 
 can I ever return the obligation ? 
 
 Lofty. A bagatelle a mere bagatelle. But I see 
 your heart is labouring to be grateful. You shall be 
 grateful. It would be cruel to disappoint you. 
 
 Honey wood. How? Teach me the manner. Is 
 there any way ? 
 
 Lofty. From this moment you're mine. Yes, my 
 friend, you shall know it I'm in love. 
 
 Honeywood. And can I assist you ? 
 
 Lofty. Nobody so well. 
 
 Honeywood. In what manner ? I'm all impatience. 
 
 Lofty. You shall make love for me. 
 
 Honeywood. And to whom shall I speak in your 
 favour ? 
 
 Lofty. To a lady with whom you have great interest, 
 I assure you Miss Richland. 
 
 Honeywood. Miss Richland ! 
 
 Lofty. Yes, Miss Richland. She has struck the 
 blow up to the hilt in my bosom, by Jupiter. 
 
 Honeywood. Was ever anything more unfortunate ? 
 It is too much to be endured. 
 
 Lofty. Unfortunate indeed ! and yet I can endure 
 it, till you have opened the affair to her for me. 
 Between ourselves, I think she likes me : I'm not apt 
 to boast, but I think she does. 
 
 Honeywood. Indeed ! But do you know the person 
 you apply to ? 
 
 Lofty. Yes, I know you are her friend, and mine ; 
 that's enough. To you, therefore, I commit the 
 success of my passion. I'll say no more, let friendship 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 159 
 
 do the rest. I have only to add, that if at any time 
 
 my little interest can be of service But hang it, 
 
 I'll make no promises : you know my interest is yours 
 at any time. No apologies, my friend I'll not be 
 answered ; it shall be so. [Exit. 
 
 Honeywood. Open, generous, unsuspecting man ! 
 He little thinks that I love her too ; and with such an 
 ardent passion ! But then it was ever but a vain and 
 hopeless one my torment, my persecution ! What 
 shall I do? Love, friendship, a hopeless passion, a 
 deserving friend ! Love, that has been my tormentor; 
 a friend, that has, perhaps, distressed himself to serve 
 me. It shall be so. Yes, I will discard the fondling 
 hope from my bosom, and exert all my influence in his 
 favour. And yet, to see her in the possession of 
 another ! Insupportable ! But then, to betray a 
 generous, trusting friend ! worse, worse ! Yes, I'm 
 resolved. Let me but be the instrument of cheir 
 happiness, and then quit a country where I must for 
 ever despair of finding my own. [Exit. 
 
 Enter OLIVIA and GARNET, who carries a milliner's 
 box. 
 
 Olivia. Dear me! I wish this journey were over, 
 No news of Jarvis yet? I believe the old peevish 
 creature delays purely to vex me. 
 
 Garnet. Why, to be sure, madam, I did hear him 
 say, a little snubbing before marriage would teach you 
 to bear it the better afterwards. 
 
 Olivia. To be gone a full hour, though he had only 
 to get a bill changed in the City ! How provoking ! 
 
160 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 Garnet. I'll lay my life Mr. Leontine, that had 
 twice as much to do, is setting off by this time from 
 his inn, and here you are left behind. 
 
 Olivia* Well, let us be prepared for his coming, 
 however. Are you sure you have omitted nothing, 
 Garnet ? 
 
 Garnet. Not a stick, madam all's here. Yet I wish 
 you could take the white and silver to be married in. 
 It's the worst luck in the world, in anything but white. 
 I knew one Bett Stubbs, of our town, that was married 
 in red, and, as sure as eggs is eggs, the bridegroom 
 and she had a miff, before morning. 
 
 Olivia. ~No matter. I'm all impatience till we are 
 out of the house. 
 
 Garnet. Bless me, madam ! I had almost forgot the 
 wedding-ring ! the sweet little thing ! I don't think 
 it would go on my little finger. And what if I put in 
 a gentleman's night- cap, in case of necessity, madam ? 
 But here's Jarvis. 
 
 Enter JARVIS. 
 
 Olivia. O Jarvis, are you come at last ? We have 
 been ready this half hour. Now let's be going let us 
 fly! 
 
 Jarvis. Ay, to Jericho ; for we shall have no going 
 to Scotland this bout, I fancy. 
 
 Olivia. How! What's the matter ? 
 
 Jarvis. Money, money is the matter, madam ! We 
 have got no money ! What do you send me on your 
 fool's errand for ? My master's bill upon the City is 
 not worth a rush. Here it is ; Mrs, Garnet may pin 
 up her hair with it. 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 161 
 
 Olivia. Undone ! How could Hoiieywood serve us 
 so ! What shall we do ? Can't we go without it ? 
 
 Jarvis. Go to Scotland without money ! To Scot- 
 land without money ! , how some people under- 
 stand geography ! We might as well set sail for 
 Patagonia upon a cork jacket. 
 
 Olivia. Such a disappointment ! What a base, 
 insincere man was your master, to serve us in this 
 manner ! Is this his good nature ? 
 
 Jarvis. Nay, don't talk ill of my master, madam, 
 I won't bear to hear anybody talk ill of him but 
 myself. 
 
 Garnet. Bless us, now I think on't, madam, you need 
 not be under any uneasiness : I saw Mr. Leontine re- 
 ceive forty guineas from his father just before he set 
 out, and he can't yet have left the inn. A short letter 
 will reach him there. 
 
 Olivia. Well remembered, Garnet ; I'll write im- 
 mediately. How's this ? Bless me, my hand trembles 
 so I can't write a word. Do you write, Garnet ; arid, 
 upon second thought, it will be safer from you. 
 
 Garnet. Truly, madam, I write and indite but 
 poorly ; I never was cute at my laming. But I'll do 
 what I can to please you. Let me see. All out of my 
 own head, I suppose. 
 
 Olivia. Whatever you please. 
 
 Garnet. [Writing.'] "Muster Croaker." Twenty 
 guineas, madam ? 
 
 Olivia. Ay, twenty will do. 
 
 Garnet. " At the bar of the Talbot till called for. 
 Expedition will be blown up All of a flame Quick, 
 F 19 
 
162 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 despatch Cupid, the little God of Love." I conclude 
 it, madam, with " Cupid : " I love to see a love-letter 
 end like poetry. 
 
 Olivia. Well, well ; what you please anything. 
 But how shall we send it ? I can trust none of the 
 servants of this family. 
 
 Garnet. Odso, madam, Mr. Honeywood's butler is 
 in the next room. He's a dear, sweet man ; he'll do 
 anything for nie. 
 
 Jarvis. He ! the dog ; he'll certainly commit some 
 blunder. He's drunk and sober ten times a day. 
 
 Olivia. No matter. Ply, Garnet ; any one we can 
 trust will do. [Exit GARNET.] Well, Jarvis, now we 
 can have nothing more to interrupt us. You may take 
 up the things, and carry them on to the inn. Have you 
 no hands, Jarvis ? 
 
 Jarvis. Soft, and fair, young lady. You, that are 
 going to be married, think things can never be done 
 too fast ; but we that are old, and know what we are 
 about, must elope methodically, madam. 
 
 Olivia. Well, sure, if my indiscretions were to be 
 done over again 
 
 Jarvis, My life for it, you would do them ten times 
 over. 
 
 Olivia. Why will you talk so ? If you knew how 
 unhappy they make me 
 
 Jarvis. Yery unhappy, no doubt ; I was once just as 
 unhappy when I was going to be married myself. I'll 
 tell you a story about that 
 
 Olivia. A story! when I'm all impatience to be 
 away. Was there ever such a dilatory creature ? 
 
THE GOOD-NATTJRED MAN. 163 
 
 Jarvis. Well, madam ! if we must march, why we 
 will- march ; that's all. Though, odds-bobs, we have 
 still forgot one thing we should never travel without 
 a case of good razors, and a box of shaving-powder. 
 But no matter, I believe we shall be pretty well shaved 
 by the way. [Going. 
 
 Enter GARNET. 
 
 Garnet. Undone, undone, madam ! Ah, Mr. Jarvis, 
 you said right enough. As sure as death, Mr. Honey- 
 wood's rogue of a drunken butler dropped the letter 
 before he went ten yards from the door. There's old 
 Croaker has just picked it up, and is this moment 
 reading it to himself in the hall. 
 
 Olivia. Unfortunate ! We shall be discovered. 
 
 Garnet. No, madam, don't be uneasy, he can make 
 neither head nor tail of it. To be sure, he looks as if 
 he was broke loose from Bedlam about it, but he can't 
 
 find what it means for all that. Oh , he is coming 
 
 this' way all in the horrors. 
 
 Olivia. Then let ns leave the house this instant, for 
 fear he should ask further questions. In the meantime, 
 Garnet, do you write and send off just such another. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 Enter CROAKER. 
 
 Croaker. Death and destruction ! Are all the horrors 
 of air, fire, and water, to be levelled only at me ? Am 
 I only to be singled out for gunpowder plots, com- 
 bustibles, and conflagration ? Here it is an incendi- 
 ary letter dropped at my door. " To Muster Croaker, 
 these, with speed." Ay, ay, plain enough the direction ; 
 all in the genuine incendiary spelling, and as cramp 
 
164 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 as ''With speed!" Oh, confound your speed! 
 
 But let me read it once more. [Reads.'] "Muster 
 Croakar as sone as yoew see this leve twenty gunnes at 
 the bar of the Talboot tell caled for or yowe and yower 
 experetion will be al blown up." Ah, but too plain. 
 Blood and gunpowder in every line of it. Blown up ! 
 
 murderous dog ! All blown up ! ! what have I 
 
 and my poor family done, to be all blown up ! [Reads.~\ 
 " Our pockets are low, and money we must have." Ay, 
 there's the reason ; they'll blow us up because they 
 have got low pockets. [Reads. ~\ "It is but a short 
 time you have to consider ; for if this takes wind, the 
 house will quickly be all of a flame." * Inhuman 
 monsters ! blow us up, and then burn us. The earth- 
 quake at Lisbon was but a bonfire to it. [Reads. ~\ 
 " Make quick dispatch, and so no more at present. 
 But may Cupid, the little god of Love, go with you 
 wherever you go." The little god of Love ! Cupid, 
 
 the little god of Love, go with me ! Go you you 
 
 and your little Cupid together ! I'm so frightened, I 
 scarce know whether I sit, stand, or go. Perhaps this 
 moment I'm treading on lighted matches, blazing brim- 
 stone, and barrels of gunpowder. They are preparing 
 to blow me up into the clouds. Murder ! We shall 
 be all burnt in our beds ; we shall be all burnt in our 
 
 beds ! 
 
 Enter Miss HIGHLAND. 
 
 Miss Rich. Sir, what's the matter. 
 Croaker. Murder's the matter. We shall be all 
 blown up in our beds before morning. 
 Miss Rich. I hope not, sir. 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 165 
 
 Croaker. What signifies what you hope, madam, when 
 I have a certificate of it here in my hand ? Will 
 nothing alarm my family? Sleeping and eating, 
 sleeping and eating, is the only work from morning 
 till night in my house. My insensible crew could 
 sleep, though rocked "by an earthquake ; and fry beef- 
 steaks at a volcano. 
 
 Miss Rich. But, sir, you have alarmed them so often 
 already; we have nothing but earthquakes, famines, 
 plagues, and mad dogs, from year's end to year's end. 
 You remember, sir, it is not above a month ago you 
 assured us of a conspiracy among the bakers, to poison 
 us in our bread ; and so kept the whole family a week 
 upon potatoes. 
 
 Croaker. And potatoes were too good for them. But 
 why do I stand talking here with a girl, when I should 
 be facing the enemy without? Here John, Nico- 
 demus, search the house ! Look into the cellars, to see 
 if there be any combustibles below ; and above, in the 
 apartments, that 110 matches be thrown in at the 
 windows. Let all the fires be put out, and let the 
 engine be drawn out in the yard, to play upon the 
 house in case of necessity. [Exit. 
 
 Miss HIGHLAND alone. 
 
 Miss Rich. What can he mean by all this ? Yet, 
 why should I inquire, when he alarms us in this manner 
 almost every day? But Honeywood has desired an 
 interview with me in private. What can he mean ? or, 
 rather, what means this palpitation at his approach ? 
 It is the first time he ever showed anything in his con- 
 
 V 
 
166 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 duct that seemed particular. Sure he cannot mean 
 to But he's here. 
 
 Enter HONEYWOOD. 
 
 Honeywood. I presumed to solicit this interview, 
 madam, before I left town, to be permitted 
 
 Miss Rich. Indeed ! Leaving town, sir ? 
 
 Honeywood. Yes, madam ; perhaps the kingdom. I 
 have presumed, I say, to desire the favour of this in- 
 terview, in order to disclose something which our long 
 friendship prompts. And yet my fears 
 
 Miss Rich. His fears ! what are his fears to mine ? 
 [Aside. ~] We have, indeed, been long acquainted, sir 
 very long. If I remember, our first meeting was 
 at the French ambassador's. Do you recollect how 
 you were pleased to rally me upon my complexion 
 there ? 
 
 Honeywood. Perfectly, madam. I presumed to re- 
 prove you for painting ; but your warmer blushes soon 
 convinced the company that the colouring was all from 
 nature. 
 
 Miss Rich. And yet you only meant it, in your good- 
 natured way, to make me pay a compliment to myself. 
 In the same manner you danced that night with the 
 most awkward woman in company, because you saw 
 nobody else would take her out. 
 
 Honeywood. Yes ; and was rewarded the next night 
 by dancing with the finest woman in company, whom 
 everybody wished to take out. 
 
 Miss Rich. Well, sir, if you thought so then, I fear 
 your judgment has since corrected the errors of a first 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 167 
 
 impression. "We generally show to most advantage at 
 first. Our sex are like poor tradesmen, that put all 
 their best goods to be seen at the windows. 
 
 Honey wood. The first impression, madam, did indeed 
 deceive me. I expected to find a woman with all the 
 faults of conscious flattered beauty. I expected to find 
 her vain and insolent. But every day has since taught 
 me that it is possible to possess sense without pride, 
 and beauty without affectation. 
 
 Miss Rich. This, sir, is a style very unusual with Mr. 
 Honey wood ; and I should be glad to know why ha 
 thus attempts to increase that vanity, which his own 
 lesson hath taught me to despise. 
 
 Honeywood. I ask pardon, madam. Yet, from our 
 long friendship, I presumed I might have some right to 
 offer, without offence, what you may refuse without 
 offending. 
 
 Miss Hick. Sir, I beg you'd reflect. Though, I fear, 
 I shall scarce have any power to refuse a request of 
 yours, yet you may be precipitate : consider, sir. 
 
 Honeywood. I own my rashness ; but, as I plead the 
 cause of friendship, of one who loves don't be alarmed, 
 madam who loves you with the most ardent passion ; 
 whose whole happiness is placed in you 
 
 Miss Rich. I fear, sir, I shall never find whom you 
 mean, by this description of him. 
 
 Honeywood. Ah, madam, it but too plainly points 
 him out ; though he should be too humble himself to 
 urge his pretensions, or you too modest to understand 
 them. 
 
 Miss Rich. Well ; it would be affectation any longer 
 
168 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 to pretend ignorance ; and I will own, sir, I have long 
 been prejudiced in his favour. It was but natural to 
 wish to make his heart mine, as he seemed himself 
 ignorant of its value. 
 
 Honeywood, I see she always loved him. [Aside."] 
 I find, madam, you're already sensible of his worth, 
 his passion. How happy is my friend, to be the 
 favourite of one with such sense to distinguish merit, 
 and such beauty to reward it ! 
 
 Miss Rich. Your friend, sir ! What friend ? 
 
 Honeywood. My best friend my friend Mr. Lofty, 
 madam. 
 
 Miss Rich. He, sir ! 
 
 Honeywood. Yes, he, madam. He is, indeed, wha,t 
 your warmest wishes might have formed him. And 
 to his other qualities he adds that of the most pas- 
 sionate regard for you, 
 
 Miss Rich. Amazement ! N"o more of this, I beg 
 you, sir. 
 
 Honeywood. I see your confusion, madam, and know 
 how to interpret it. And since I so plainly read the 
 language of your heart, shall I make my friend happy 
 by communicating your sentiments ? 
 
 Miss Rich. By no means. 
 
 Honeywood. Excuse me ; I must : I know you 
 desire it. 
 
 Miss Rich. Mr. Honeywood, let ine'tell you that you 
 wrong my sentiments and yourself. When I first 
 applied to your friendship, I expected advice and assist- 
 ance ; but now, sir, I see that it is vai:i to expect hap- 
 piness from him who has been so bad an economist of 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 169 
 
 his own ; and that I must disclaim his friendship who 
 ceases to be a friend to himself. [Exit. 
 
 Honeywood. How is this ? She has confessed she 
 loved him, and yet she seemed to part in displeasure. 
 Can I have done anything to reproach myself with ? 
 No, I believe not; yet, after all, these things should 
 not be done by a third person. I should have spared 
 her confusion. My friendship carried me a little too 
 far. 
 
 Enter CROAKER, with the letter in his hand, and 
 MRS. CROAKER. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. Ha ! ha ! ha ! And so, my dear, it's 
 your supreme wish that I should be quite wretched 
 upon this occasion ? Ha ! ha ! 
 
 Croaker. [Mimicking.'] Ha ! ha ! ha ! and so, my 
 dear, it's your supreme pleasure to give me no better 
 consolation ? 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. Positively, my dear, what is this in- 
 cendiary stuff and trumpery to me ? Our house may 
 travel through the air like tke house of Loretto, for 
 aught I care, if I'm to be miserable in it. 
 
 Croaker. "Would to heaven it were converted into a 
 iouse of correction for your benefit! Have we not 
 everything to alarm us ? Perhaps this very moment 
 the tragedy is beginning. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. Then let us reserve our distress till 
 the rising of the curtain, or give them the money they 
 want, and have done with them. 
 
 Croaker. Give them my money ! And pray, what 
 right have they to my money ? 
 F* 19 
 
170 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. And pray, what right, then, have they 
 to my good humour ? 
 
 Croaker. And so your good humour advises me to 
 part with my money ? Why, then, to tell your good 
 humour a piece of my mind, I'd sooner part with my 
 wife. Here's Mr. Honeywood ; see what he'll say to it. 
 My dear Honeywood, look at this incendiary letter 
 dropped at my door. It will freeze you with terror ; 
 and yet lovey here can read it can read it, and laugh ! 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. Yes, and so will Mr. Honeywood. 
 
 Croaker. If he does, I'll suffer to be hanged the next 
 minute in the rogue's place, that's all. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. Speak, Mr. Honeywood; is there 
 anything more foolish than my husband's fright upon 
 this occasion ? 
 
 Honeywood. It would not become me to decide, 
 madam ; but, doubtless, the greatest of his terrors now 
 will but invite them to renew their villainy another 
 time. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. I told you, he'd be of my opinion. 
 
 Croaker. How, sir ! do you maintain that I should 
 lie down under such an injury, and show, neither by 
 my tears nor complaints, that I have something of the 
 spirit of a man in me ? 
 
 Honeywood. Pardon me, sir. You ought to make 
 -the loudest complaints, if you desire redress. The 
 surest way to have redress is to be earnest in the 
 pursuit of it. 
 
 Croaker. Ay, whose opinion is he of now ? 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. But don't you think that laughing off 
 our fears is the best way ? 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 171 
 
 Honeywood. What is the best, madam, few can say ; 
 but I'll maintain it to be a very wise way. 
 
 Croaker. But we're talking of the best. Surely, the 
 best way is to face the enemy in the field, and not wait 
 till he plunders us in our very bedchamber. 
 
 Honeywood. Why, sir, as to the best, that that's a 
 very wise way too. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. But can anything be more absurd 
 than to double our distresses by our apprehensions, 
 and put it in the power of every low fellow, that can 
 scrawl ten words of wretched spelling, to torment 
 us? 
 
 Honeywood. Without doubt, nothing more absurd. 
 
 Croaker. How! would it not be more absurd to 
 despise the rattle till we are bit by the snake ? 
 
 Honeywood. Without doubt, perfectly absurd. 
 
 Croaker. Then you are of my opinion ? 
 
 Honeywood. Entirely. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. And you reject mine ? 
 
 Honeywood. forbid, madam. ISTo, sure no 
 
 reasoning can be more just than yours. We ought 
 certainly to despise malice, if we cannot oppose it, and 
 not make the incendiary's pen as fatal to our repose as 
 the highwayman's pistol. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. Oh ! then you think I'm quite right. 
 
 Honeywood. Perfectly right. 
 
 Croaker. A plague of plagues ! we can't both be 
 right. I ought to be sorry, or I ought to be glad. 
 My hat must be on my head, or my hat must be 
 off. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. Certainly, in two opposite opinions, 
 
172 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 if one be perfectly reasonable, the other can't be per- 
 fectly right. 
 
 Honeywood. And why may not both be right, 
 madam Mr Croaker in earnestly seeking redress, and 
 you in waiting the event with good humour ? Pray let 
 me see the letter again. I have it. This letter requires 
 twenty guineas to be left at the bar of the Talbot Inn. 
 If it be indeed an incendiary letter, what if you and I, 
 sir, go there ; and, when the writer conies to be paid 
 his expected booty, seize him ? 
 
 Croaker. My dear friend, it's the very thing the 
 very thing. While I walk by the door, you shall 
 plant yourself in ambush near the bar, burst out upon 
 the miscreant like a masqued battery, extort a confes- 
 sion at once, and so hang him up by surprise. 
 
 Honeyivood. Yes ; but I would not choose to exercise 
 too much severity. It is my maxim, sir, that crimes 
 generally punish themselves. 
 
 Croaker. Well, but we may upbraid him a little, I 
 suppose ? [Ironically.] 
 
 Honeywood. Ay, but not punish him too rigidly. 
 
 Croaker. Well, well, leave that to my own benevo- 
 lence. 
 
 Honeywood. Well, I do ; but remember that universal 
 benevolence is the first law of nature. 
 
 [Exeunt HONEYWOOD and MRS. CROAKER. 
 
 Croaker. Yes ; and my universal benevolence wil] 
 hang the dog, if he had as many necks as a hydra. 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 173 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCENE I. An Inn. 
 Enter OLIVIA, JARVIS. 
 
 Olivia. Well, we have go^ safe to the inn, however. 
 ISTow, if the post-chaise were ready 
 
 Jarvis. The horses are just finishing their oats ; and, 
 as they are not going to be married, they choose to 
 take their own time. 
 
 Olivia. You are for ever giving wrong motives to 
 my impatience. 
 
 Jarvis. Be as impatient as you will, the horses must 
 take their own time. Besides, you don't consider we 
 have got no answer from our fellow-traveller yet. If 
 we hear nothing from Mr. Leontine, we have only one 
 way left us. 
 
 Olivia. What way ? 
 
 Jarvis. The way home again. 
 
 Olivia. Not so, I have made a resolution to go, 
 and nothing shall induce me to break it. 
 
 Jarvis. Ay; resolutions are well kept when they 
 jump with inclination. However, I'll go to hasten 
 things without. And I'll call, too, at the bar to see if 
 anything should be left for us there. Don't be in such 
 a plaguy hurry, madam, and we shall go the faster, I 
 promise you. [Exit JARVIS. 
 
 Enter LANDLADY. 
 
 Landlady. What ! Solomon. Why don't you move ? 
 Pipes and tobacco for the Lamb there. Will nobody 
 
174 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 answer ? To the Dolphin quick ! The Angel has 
 been ontrageous this half hour. Did your ladyship 
 call, madam ? 
 
 Olivia. No, madam. 
 
 Landlady. I find as you're for Scotland, madam 
 but that's no business of mine; married, or not 
 married, I ask no questions. To be sure, we had a 
 sweet little couple set off from this two days ago, for 
 the same place. The gentleman, for a tailor, was, to 
 be sure, as fine a spoken tailor as ever blew froth from 
 a full pot. And the young lady so bashful, it was near 
 half an hour before we could get her to finish a pint of 
 raspberry between us. 
 
 Olivia. But this gentleman and I are not going to 
 be married, I assure you. , 
 
 Landlady. Maybe not. That's no business of mine ; 
 for certain, Scotch marriages seldom turn out well. 
 There was, of my own knowledge, Miss Macfag, that 
 married her father's footman. Alack-a-day ! she and 
 her husband soon parted, and now keep separate cellars 
 in Hedge Lane. 
 
 Olivia. A very pretty picture of what lies before 
 ine ! [Aside~\ 
 
 Enter LEONTINE. 
 
 Leont. My dear Olivia, my anxiety till you were out 
 of danger was too great to be resisted. I could not 
 help coming to see you set out, though it exposes us to 
 a discovery. 
 
 Olivia. May everything you do prove as fortunate. 
 Indeed, Leontine, we have been most cruelly dis- 
 appointed. Mr. Honeywood's bill upon the City has, 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 175 
 
 it seems, been protested, and we have been utterly at a 
 loss how to proceed. 
 
 Leont. How ! An offer of his own, too. Sure he 
 could not mean to deceive us. 
 
 Olivia. Depend upon his sincerity ; he only mistook 
 the desire for the power of serving us. But let us 
 think no more of it. I believe the post-chaise is ready 
 by this. 
 
 Landlady. Not quite yet ; and, Begging your lady- 
 ship's pardon, I don't think your ladyship quite ready 
 for the post-chaise. The north road is a cold place, 
 madam. I have a drop in the house of as pretty 
 raspberry as ever was tipt over tongue. Just a 
 thimbleful, to keep the wind off your stomach. To be 
 sure, the last couple we had here, they said it was 
 a perfect nosegay. Ecod, I sent them both away as 
 good-natured ! Up went the blinds, round went the 
 wheels, and, Drive away, post boy ! was the word. 
 
 Enter CROAKER. 
 
 Croaker. Well, while my friend Honeywood is upon 
 the post of danger at the bar, it must be my business 
 to have an eye about me here. I think I know an 
 incendiary's look; for, wherever the devil makes a 
 purchase, he never fails to set his mark ! Ha ! who 
 have we here? My son and daughter! What can 
 they be doing here ? 
 
 Landlady. I tell you, madam, it will do you good. 
 I think I know, by this time, what's good for the 
 north road. It's a raw night, madam. Sir 
 
 Leont. Not a drop more, good madam. I should 
 
176 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 now take it as a greater favour if you hasten the 
 horses ; for I am afraid to be seen myself. 
 
 Landlady. That shall be done. Wha, Solomon ! 
 Are you all dead, there ? Wha, Solomon, I say. 
 
 \JExit s bawling. 
 
 Olivia. Well, I dread lest an expedition, begun in 
 fear, should end in repentance. Every moment we 
 stay increases our danger, and adds to my appre- 
 hensions. 
 
 Leant. There's no danger, trust me, my dear there 
 can be none. If Honeywood has acted with honour, 
 and kept my father, as he promised, in employment 
 till we are out of danger, nothing can interrupt our 
 journey. 
 
 Olivia. I have no doubt of Mr. Honeywood's sin- 
 cerity, and even his desire to serve us. My fears are 
 from your father's suspicions. A mind so disposed to 
 be alarmed without a cause will be but too ready when 
 there's a reason. 
 
 Leont. Why, let him, when we are out of his power. 
 But believe me, Olivia, you have no great reason to 
 dread his resentment. His repining temper, as it does 
 no manner of injury to himself, so will it never do 
 harm to others. He only frets to keep himself 
 employed, and scolds for his private amusement. 
 
 Olivia. I don't know that; but I'm sure, on some 
 occasions, it makes him look most shockingly. 
 
 Croalter. [Discovering himself.^ How does he look 
 ncrv v how does he look now ? 
 
 Olivia. Ah! 
 
 Leont. Undone' 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 177 
 
 Croaker. How do I look now ? Sir, I am your very 
 humble servant. Madam, I am yours. "What ! you 
 are going off, are you ? Then, first, if you please, take 
 a word or two from me with you before you go. Tell 
 me first where you are going ; and when you have told 
 me that, perhaps I shall know as little as I did before. 
 
 Leont. If that be so, our answer might but increase 
 your displeasure, without adding to your information. 
 
 Croaker. I want no information from you, puppy ! 
 And you too, madam : what answer have you got ? 
 \_A cry without, Stop him /] Eh ! I think I heard a 
 noise. My friend Honey wood without has he seized 
 the incendiary ? Ah, no, for now I hear no more on't. 
 
 Leont. Honey wood without ? Then, sir, it was Mr. 
 Honey wood that directed you hither ? 
 
 Croaker. JSTo, sir, it was Mr. Honeywood conducted 
 me hither. 
 
 Leont. Is it possible ? 
 
 Croaker. Possible ! Why, he's in the house now, 
 sir. More anxious about me than my own son, sir. 
 
 Leont. Then, sir, he's a villain. 
 
 Croaker. How, sirrah ! a villain, because he takes 
 most care of your father ? I'll not bear it. I tell you, 
 I'll not bear it. Honeywood is a friend to the family, 
 and I'll have him treated as such. 
 
 Leont. I shall study to repay his friendship as it 
 deserves. 
 
 Croaker. Ah, rogue, if you knew how earnestly he 
 entered into my griefs and pointed out the means to 
 detect them, you would love him a.s I do. (A cry with- 
 out, Stop him /) Fire and fury ! they have seized the 
 
178 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 incendiary ; they have the villain, the incendiary in 
 view. Stop him, stop an incendiary, a murderer ! 
 Stop him ! [Exit. 
 
 Olivia. Oh, my terrors ! What can this new tumult 
 mean? 
 
 Leont. Some new mark, I suppose, of Mr. Honey- 
 wood's sincerity. But we shall have satisfaction : he 
 shall give me instant satisfaction. 
 
 Olivia. It mast not be, my Leontine, if you value 
 my esteem or my happiness. Whatever be our fate, 
 let us not add guilt to our misfortunes. Consider that 
 our innocence will shortly be all we have left us. You 
 must forgive him. 
 
 Leont. Forgive him ! Has he not in every instance 
 betrayed us ? Forced me to borrow money from him, 
 which appears a mere trick to delay us : promised to 
 keep my father engaged till we were out of danger, 
 and here brought him to the very scene of our escape ? 
 
 Olivia. Don't be precipitate. We may yet be mis- 
 taken. 
 
 Enter POSTBOY, dragging in JAKVIS ; HONEYWOOD 
 entering soon after. 
 
 Postboy. Ay, master, we have him fast enough. 
 Here is the incendiary dog. I'm entitled to the 
 reward; I'll take my oath I saw him ask for the 
 money at the bar, and then run for it. 
 
 Honeywood. Come, bring him along. Let us see 
 him. Let him learn to blush for his crimes. [Dis- 
 covering his mistake,'] Death ! what's here ? Jarvis, 
 Lecaitine, Olivia 1 What can all this mean ? 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 179 
 
 Jarvis. Why, I'll tell you what it means ; that I was 
 an old fool, and that you are my master that's all. 
 
 Honeywood. Confusion ! 
 
 Leont. Yes, sir; I find you have kept your word 
 with me. After such baseness, I wonder how you can 
 venture to see the man you have injured. 
 
 Honeywood. My dear Leontine, by my life, my 
 honour 
 
 Leont. Peace, peace, for shame; and do not con- 
 tinue to aggravate baseness by hypocrisy. I know 
 you, sir, I know you. 
 
 Honeywood. Why, won't you hear me ? By all 
 that's just, I knew not 
 
 Leont. Hear you, sir, to what purpose ? I now see 
 through all your low arts ; your ever complying with 
 every opinion ; your never refusing any request ; all 
 these, sir, have long been contemptible to the world, 
 and are now perfectly so to me. 
 
 Honeywood. Ha ! contemptible to the world ! That 
 reaches me. [Aside.'] 
 
 Leont. All the seeming sincerity of your professions, 
 I now find, were only allurements to betray ; and all 
 your seeming regret for their consequences only 
 calculated to cover the cowardice of your heart. 
 Draw, villain ! 
 
 Enter CROAKER out of breath. 
 
 Croaker. Where is the villain ? Where is the in- 
 cendiary ? [Seizing the POSTBOY.] Hold him fast, 
 the dog ; he has the gallows in his face. Come, you 
 dog, confess confess all, and hang yourself. 
 
180 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 Postboy. Zounds, master ! what do you throttle me 
 for? 
 
 Croaker. [Beating him.'] Dog, do you resist ? do 
 you resist ? 
 
 Postboy. Zounds, master ! I'm not he ; there's the 
 man that we thought was the rogue, and turns out to 
 be one of the company. 
 
 Croaker. How ! 
 
 Honeywood. Mr. Croaker, we have all been under a 
 strange mistake here : I find there is nobody guilty ; it 
 was all an error entirely an error of our own. 
 
 Croalter. And I say, sir, that you're in an error ; for 
 there's guilt, and double guilt ; a plot, a Jesuit- 
 ical, pestilential plot ; and I must have proof of it. 
 
 Honeywood. Do but hear me. 
 
 Croaker. What ! you intend to bring 'em off, I 
 suppose ? I'll hear nothing. 
 
 Honeywood. Madam, you seem at least calm enough 
 to hear reason. 
 
 Olivia. Excuse me. 
 
 Honeywood. Good Jarvis, let me then explain it to 
 you. 
 
 Jarvis. What signifies explanation when the thing 
 is done ? 
 
 Honeywood. Will nobody hear me ? Was there ever 
 such a set, so blinded by passion and prejudice ! [To 
 the POSTBOY.] My good friend, I believe you'll be 
 surprised when I assure you 
 
 Postboy. Sure me nothing I'm sure of nothing but 
 a good beating. 
 
 Croaker* Come , then, you, madam ; if you ever hope 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 181 
 
 for any favour or forgiveness, tell me sincerely all you 
 know of this affair. 
 
 Olivia. Unhappily, sir, I'm but too much the cause 
 of your suspicions. You see before you, sir, one that 
 with false pretences has stepped into your family, to 
 betray it : not your daughter 
 
 Croaker. Not my daughter ! 
 
 Olivia. Not your daughter but a mean deceiver 
 who support me, I cannot 
 
 Honey wood. Help ! she's going ! give her air. 
 
 Croaker. Ay, ay, take the young woman to the air ; 
 I would not hurt a hair of her head, whose ever 
 daughter she may be not so bad as that neither. 
 
 [Exeunt all but CROAKER. 
 
 Croalcer. Yes, yes, all's out; I now see the whole 
 affair. My son is either married, or going to be so, to 
 this lady, whom he imposed upon me as his sister. Ay, 
 certainly so ; and yet I don't find it afflicts me so much 
 as one might think. There's the advantage of fretting- 
 away our misfortunes beforehand, we never feel them 
 when they come. 
 
 Enter Miss HIGHLAND and SIR WILLIAM. 
 
 Sir Will. But how do you know, madam, that my 
 nephew intends setting off from this place ? 
 
 Miss Rich. My maid assured me he was come to this 
 inn, and my own knowledge of his intending to leave 
 the kingdom suggested the rest. But what do I see ? 
 My guardian here before us ! Who, my dear sir, could 
 ha\e expected meeting you here? To what accident 
 do we owe this pleasure ? 
 
182 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 Croaker. To a fool, I believe 
 
 Miss Rich. But to what purpose did you corrie ? 
 
 Croaker. To play the fool. 
 
 Miss Rich. But with whom ? 
 
 Croalcer. With greater fools than myself. 
 
 Miss Rich. Explain. 
 
 Croaker. Why, Mr. Honeywood brought me here, to 
 do nothing now I am here ; and my son is going to be 
 married to I don't know who that is here ; so now you 
 are as wise as I am. 
 
 Miss Rich. Married ! to whom, sir ? 
 
 Croaker. To Olivia my daughter, as I took her to 
 be : but who she is, or whose daughter she is, I know 
 no more than the man in the moon. 
 
 Sir Will. Then, sir, I can inform you; and though 
 a stranger, yet you shall find me a friend to your 
 family. It will be enough, at present, to assure you 
 that, both in point of birth and fortune, the young lady 
 is at least your son's equal. Being left by her father, 
 Sir James Woodville 
 
 Croaker. Sir James Woodville ! What, of the 
 west ! 
 
 Sir Will. Being left by him, I say, to the care of a 
 mercenary wretch, whose only aim was to secure her 
 fortune to himself, she was sent into France, under 
 pretence of education ; and there every art was tried to 
 fix her for life in a convent, contrary to her inclinations. 
 Of this I was informed upon my arrival at Paris ; and 
 as I had been once her father's friend, I did all in my 
 power to frustrate her guardian's base intentions. I 
 had even meditated to rescue her from his authority 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 183 
 
 when your son stept in with more pleasing violence, 
 gave her liberty, and you a daughter. 
 
 Croaker. But I intend to have a daughter of my own 
 choosing, sir. A young lady, sir, whose fortune, by 
 my interest, with those that have interest, will be 
 double what niy son has a right to expect. Do you 
 know Mr. Lofty, sir ? 
 
 Sir Will. Yes, sir ; and know that you are deceived 
 
 in him. But step this way, and I will convince you. 
 
 [CROAKER and SIR WILLIAM seem to confer. 
 
 Enter HONEY WOOD. 
 
 Honeywood. Obstinate man, still to persist in his 
 outrage ! Insulted by him, despised by all, I now 
 begin to grow contemptible even to myself. How 
 have I sunk, by too great an assiduity to please ! How 
 have I overtaxed all my abilities, lest the approbation 
 of a single fool should escape me ! But all is now 
 over. I have survived my reputation, my fortune, my 
 friendships ; and nothing remains henceforward for me 
 but solitude and repentance. 
 
 Miss Rich. Is it true, Mr. Honeywood, that you are 
 setting off without taking leave of your friends ? The 
 report is, that you are quitting England. Can it 
 be? 
 
 Honeywood. Yes, madam; and though I am so 
 unhappy as to have fallen under your displeasure, yet, 
 thank Heaven, I leave you to happiness ; to one who 
 loves you, and deserves your love; to one who has 
 power to procure you affluence, and generosity to 
 improve your enjoyment of it. 
 
184 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 Miss Rich. And are you sure, sir, that the gentleman 
 you mean is what you describe him ? 
 
 Honeywood. I have the best assurances of it his 
 serving me. He does, indeed, deserve the highest 
 happiness that is in your power to confer. As for me, 
 weak and wavering as I have been, obliged by all, and 
 incapable of serving any, what happiness can I find but 
 in solitude ? What hope, but in being forgotten ? 
 
 Miss Rich. A thousand ! to live among friends that 
 esteem you ; whose happiness it will be to be permitted 
 to oblige you. 
 
 Honeywood. No, madam; nay resolution is fixed. 
 Inferiority among strangers is easy ; but among those 
 that once were equals, insupportable. Nay, to show 
 you how far my resolution can go, I can now speak 
 with calmness of my former follies, my vanity, my 
 dissipation, my weakness. I will even confess that, 
 among the number of my other presumptions, I had 
 the insolence to think of loving you. Yes, madam, 
 while I was pleading the passion of another, my heart 
 was tortured with its own. But it is over; it was 
 unworthy our friendship, and let it be forgotten. 
 
 Miss Rich. You amaze me ! 
 
 Honeywood. But you'll forgive it, I know you will ; 
 since the confession should not have come from me 
 even now, but to convince you of the sincerity of my 
 intention of never mentioning it more. [Going. ~] 
 
 Miss Rich. Stay, sir, one moment. Ha ! he here 
 
 Enter LOFTY. 
 Lofty. Is the coast clear? None but friends. 1 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 185 
 
 have followed you here with a trifling piece of intelli- 
 gence : but it goes no further ; things are not yet ripe 
 for a discovery. I have spirits working at a certain 
 board ; your affair at the Treasury will be done in less 
 than a thousand years. Mum ! 
 
 Miss Rich. Sooner, sir, I should hope. 
 
 Lofty. Why, yes, I believe it may, if it falls into 
 proper hands, that know where to push and where to 
 parry ; that know how the land lies eh, Honey wood ? 
 
 Miss Rich. It is fallen into yours. 
 
 Lofty. "Well, to keep you 110 longer in suspense, your 
 thing is done. It is done, I say that's all. I have 
 just had assurances from Lord Neverout that the claim 
 has been examined and found admissible. Quietus is 
 the word, madam. 
 
 Honeywood. But how ! His lordship has been at 
 Newmarket these ten days. 
 
 Lofty. Indeed ! Then Sir Gilbert Goose must have 
 been confoundedly mistaken. I had it of him. 
 
 Miss Rich. He ! Why, Sir Gilbert and his family 
 have been in the country this month. 
 
 Lofty. This month ! It must certainly be so : Sir 
 Gilbert's letter did come to me from Newmarket, so 
 that he must have met his lordship there ; and so it 
 came about. I have his letter about me ; I'll read it to 
 you. [Talcing out a large bundle.~\ That's from Paoli 
 of Corsica; that's from the Marquis of Squilachi. 
 Have you a mind to see a letter from Count Poniatow- 
 ski, now King of Poland Honest Pon ? [ Searching.'] 
 [To SIB WILL.] Oh, sir, what, are you here too ? I'll 
 tell you what, honest friend, if you have not absolutely 
 
186 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 delivered my letter to Sir William Honeywood, you 
 may return it. The thing will do without him. 
 
 Sir Will. Sir, I have delivered it, and must inform 
 you it was received with the most mortifying con- 
 tempt. 
 
 Croaker. Contempt! Mr. Lofty, what can that 
 mean ? 
 
 Lofty. Let him go on let him go on, I say. You'll 
 find it come to something presently. 
 
 Sir Will. Yes, sir, I believe you'll be amazed, if, 
 after waiting some time in the ante-chamber, after 
 being surveyed with insolent curiosity by the passing 
 servants, I was at last assured that Sir William 
 Honeywood knew no such person, and I must certainly 
 have been imposed upon. 
 
 Lofty. Good ! let me die, very good. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Croaker. Now, for my life, I can't find out half the 
 goodness of it. 
 
 Lofty. You can't. Ha ! ha ! 
 
 Croaker. No, for the soul of me : I think it was as 
 confounded a bad answer as ever was sent from one 
 private gentleman to another. 
 
 Lofty. And so you can't find out the force of the 
 message ? Why, I was in the house at that very time. 
 Ha ! ha ! It was I that sent that very answer to my 
 own letter. Ha ! ha ! 
 
 Croaker^ Indeed ? How ! why ! 
 
 Lofty. In one word, things between Sir William and 
 me must be behind the curtain. A party has many 
 eyes. He sides with Lord Buzzard ; I side with Sir 
 Gilbert Goose. So that unriddles the mystery. 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 187 
 
 Croaker. And so it does, indeed, and all my sus- 
 picions are over. 
 
 Lofty. Your suspicions ? What, then, you have been 
 suspecting, have you ? Mr. Croaker, you and I were 
 friends ; we are friends no longer. Never talk to me. 
 It's over ; I say, it's over. 
 
 Croaker. As I hope for your favour, I did not mean 
 to offend. It escaped me. Don't be discomposed. 
 
 Lofty. Zounds, sir ! but I am discomposed, and will 
 be discomposed. To be treated thus ! Who am I ? 
 Was it for this I have been dreaded both by ins and 
 outs ? Have I been libelled in the Gazetteer and 
 praised in the St. James's ? Have I been chaired at 
 Wildman's, and a speaker at Merchant Tailors' Hall ? 
 Have I had my hand to addresses, and my head in the 
 print-shops ? And talk to me of suspects ? 
 
 Croaker. My dear sir, be pacified. What can you 
 have but asking pardon ? 
 
 Lofty. Sir, I will not be pacified. Suspects ! Who 
 am I, to be used thus ? Have I paid court to men in 
 favour to serve my friends, the lords of the treasury, 
 Sir William Honeywood, and the rest of the gang, and 
 talk to me of suspects ? Who am I, I say ? who am I ? 
 
 Sir Will. Since, sir, you are so pressing for an 
 answer, I'll tell you who you are a gentleman as well 
 acquainted with politics as with men in power ; as well 
 acquainted with persons of fashion as with modesty ; 
 with lords of the treasury as with truth ; and with all 
 as you are with Sir William Honeywood. I am Sir 
 William Honeywood. [Discovering his ensigns of the 
 Baih.~\ 
 
188 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 Croaker. Sir William Honey wood ! 
 
 Honey wood. Astonishment! my uncle! [Aside."] 
 
 Lofty. So, then, my confounded genius has been all 
 this time only leading me up to the garret, in order to 
 fling me out of the window. 
 
 Croaker. What, Mr. Importance, and are these your 
 works ? Suspect you ! You, who have been dreaded 
 by the ins and outs ; you, who have had your hand to 
 addresses, and your head stuck up in print-shops. If 
 you were served right, you should have your head 
 stuck up in the pillory. 
 
 Lofty. Ay, stick it where you will ; for it cuts but a 
 very poor figure where it sticks at present. 
 
 Sir Will. Well, Mr. Croaker, I hope you now see 
 how incapable this gentleman is of serving you, and 
 how little Miss E/ichland has to expect from his in- 
 fluence-. 
 
 Croaker. Ay, sir, too well I see it, and I can't but 
 say I have had some boding of it these ten days. So 
 I'm resolved, since my son has placed his affections on 
 a lady of moderate fortune, to be satisfied with his 
 choice, and not run the hazard of another Mr. Lofty 
 in helping him to a better. 
 
 Sir Will. I approve your resolution ; and here they 
 come, to receive a confirmation of your pardon and 
 consent. 
 
 Enter MRS. CROAKER, JARVIS, LEONTINE, and 
 
 OLIVIA. 
 
 Mrs. Croaker. Where's my husband ? Come, come, 
 lovey, you must forgive them. Jarvis here has been 
 
THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 189 
 
 to tell me the whole affair ; and, I say, you must for- 
 give them. Our own was a stolen match, you know, 
 my dear ; and we never had any reason to repent of it. 
 
 Croaker. I wish we could both say so. However, 
 this gentleman, Sir William Honey wood, has been 
 beforehand with you in obtaining their pardon. So, if 
 the two poor fools have a mind to marry, I think we 
 can tack them together without crossing tbe Tweed f or 
 it. [Joining their hands. ,] 
 
 Leant. How blsst and unexpected ! What, what 
 can we say to such goodness ? But our future 
 obedience shall be the best reply. And as for this 
 gentleman, to whom we owe 
 
 Sir Will. Excuse me, sir, if I interrupt your thanks, 
 as I have here an interest that calls me. [Turning to 
 HONEYWOOD.] Yes, sir, you are surprised to see me ; 
 and I own that a desire of correcting your follies led 
 me hither. I saw with indignation the errors of a 
 mind that only sought applause from others ; that 
 easiness of disposition which, though inclined to the 
 right, had not courage to condemn the wrong. I 
 saw with regret those splendid errors, that still took 
 name from some neighbouring duty. Your charity, 
 that was but injustice ; your benevolence, that was but 
 weakness ; and your friendship but credulity. I saw, 
 with regret, great talents and extensive learning only 
 employed to add sprightliness to error, and increase 
 your perplexities. I saw your mind with a thousand 
 natural charms, but the greatness of its beauty served 
 only to heighten my pity for its prostitution. 
 
 Honeywood. Cease to upbraid me, sir : I have for 
 
190 
 
 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 
 
 some time but too strongly felt the justice of your 
 reproaches. But there is one way still left me. Yes, 
 sir, I have determined this very hour to quit for ever 
 a place where I have made myself the voluntary slave 
 of all, and to seek among strangers that fortitude 
 which may give strength to the mind, and marshal all 
 its dissipated virtues. Yet, ere I depart, permit me to 
 solicit favour for this gentleman, who, [notwithstanding 
 what has happened, has laid me under the most signal 
 obligations. Mr. Lofty 
 
 Lofty. Mr. Honeywood, I am resolved upon a re- 
 formation as well as you. I now begin to find that 
 the man who first invented the art of speaking truth 
 was a much cunninger fellow than I thought him. And 
 to prove that ;I design to speak truth for Ae future, I 
 must now assure you that you owe your late enlarge- 
 ment to another, as, upon my soul, I had no hand in 
 the matter. So now, if any of the company has a mind 
 for preferment, he may take my place. I'm deter- 
 mined to resign. [Exit. 
 
 Honeywood. How have I been deceived ! 
 
 Sir Will. No, sir, you have been obliged to a kinder, 
 fairer friend for that favour to Miss E/ichland. 
 Would she complete our joy, and make the man she 
 has honoured by her friendship happy in her love, I 
 should then forget all, and be as blest as the welfare of 
 my dearest kinsman can make me. 
 
 Miss Rich. After what is past, it would be but 
 affectation to pretend to indifference. Yes, I will own 
 an attachment which, I find, was more than friendship. 
 And if my entreaties cannot alter his resolution to 
 

 THE GOOD-NATURED MAN. 191 
 
 quit the country, I will even try if my hand has not 
 power to detain him. [Giving her hand. 
 
 Honey wood. How can I have deserved all this? 
 How express my happiness, my gratitude ? A moment 
 like this overpays an age of apprehension. 
 
 Croaker. Well, now I see content in every face : 
 but Heaven send we be all better this day three 
 months. 
 
 Sir Will. Henceforth, nephew, learn to respect 
 yourself. He who seeks only for applause from with- 
 out, has all his happiness in another's keeping. 
 
 Honeywood. Yes, sir, I now too plainly perceive my 
 errors. My vanity, in attempting to please all, by 
 fearing to offend any. My meanness in approving 
 folly, lest fools should disapprove. Henceforth, 'there- 
 fore, it shall be my study to reserve my pity for real 
 distress, my friendship for true merit, and my love 
 for her who first taught me what it is to be happy. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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