SCENE II.
Outside and gate of the Castle—Servants cross the stage, laden with different packages.
Enter Ashfield.
Ash. Drabbit it, the wold castle 'ul be hardly big enow to hold all thic lumber.
Sir Abel Handy. [Without.] Gently there! mind how you go, Robin.
[A crash.
Ash. Who do come here? A do zeem a comical zoart ov a man—Oh, Abel Handy, I suppoze.
Enter Sir Abel Handy.—Servant following.
Sir Abel. Zounds and fury! you have killed the whole county, you dog! for you have broke the patent medicine chest, that was to keep them all alive!—Richard, gently!—take care of the grand Archimedian corkscrews!—Bless my soul! so much to think of! Such wonderful inventions in conception, in concoction, and in completion!
Enter Peter.
Well, Peter, is the carriage much broke?
Peter. Smashed all to pieces. I thought as how, sir, that your infallible axletree would give way.
Sir Abel. Confound it, it has compelled me to walk so far in the wet, that I declare my water-proof shoes are completely soaked through. [Exit Peter.] Now to take a view with my new invented glass!
[Pulls out his glass.
Ash. [Loud and bluntly.] Zarvent, zur! Zarvent!
Sir Abel. [Starting.] What's that? Oh, good day.—Devil take the fellow?
[Aside.
Ash. Thankye, zur; zame to you with all my heart and zoul.
Sir Abel. Pray, friend, could you contrive gently to inform me, where I can find one Farmer Ashfield.
Ash. Ha, ha, ha! [Laughing loudly.] Excuse my tittering a bit—but your axing mysel vor I be so domm'd zilly [Bowing and laughing.]—Ah! you stare at I beceas I be bashful and daunted.
Sir Abel. You are very bashful, to be sure. I declare I'm quite weary.
Ash. If you'll walk into the castle, you may zit down, I dare zay.
Sir Abel. May I indeed? you are a fellow of extraordinary civility.
Ash. There's no denying it, zur.
Sir Abel. No, I'll sit here.
Ash. What! on the ground! Why you'll wring your ould withers—
Sir Abel. On the ground—no, I always carry my seat with me [Spreads a small camp chair.]—Here I'll sit and examine the surveyor's account of the castle.
Ash. Dickens and daizeys! what a gentleman you wou'd be to shew at a vair!
Sir Abel. Silence fellow, and attend—"An account of the castle and domain of Sir Philip Blandford, intended to be settled as a marriage portion on his daughter, and the son of Sir Abel Handy,—by Frank Flourish, surveyor.—Imprimis—The premises command an exquisite view of the Isle of Wight."—Charming! delightful! I don't see it though [Rising.]—I'll try with my new glass—my own invention—[He looks through the glass.] Yes, there I caught it—Ah! now I see it plainly—Eh! no—I don't see it, do you?
Ash. Noa, zur, I doant—but little zweepy do tell I he can zee a bit out from the top of the chimbley—zoa, an you've a mind to crawl up you may zee un too, he, he!
Sir Abel. Thank you—but damn your titter. [Reads.]—"Fish ponds well stocked"—That's a good thing, Farmer.
Ash. Likely, likely—but I doant think the vishes do thrive much in theas ponds.
Sir Abel. No! why?
Ash. Why, the ponds be always dry i'the zummer; and I be tould that bean't wholesome vor the little vishes.
Sir Abel. Not very, I believe—Well said surveyor! "A cool summer house."
Ash. Ees, zur, quite cool—by reason the roof be tumbled in.
Sir Abel. Better and better—"the whole capable of the greatest improvement."—Come, that seems true however—I shall have plenty to do, that's one comfort—I have such contrivances! I'll have a canal run through my kitchen.—I must give this rustic some idea of my consequence. [Aside.] You must know, Farmer, you have the honour of conversing with a man, who has obtained patents for tweezers, tooth-picks, and tinder boxes—to a philosopher, who has been consulted on the Wapping docks and the Gravesend tunnel; and who has now in hand two inventions which will render him immortal—the one is, converting saw dust into deal boards, and the other is, a plan of cleaning rooms by a steam engine—and, Farmer, I mean to give prizes for industry—I'll have a ploughing match.
Ash. Will you, zur?
Sir Abel. Yes; for I consider a healthy young man, between the handles of a plough, as one of the noblest illustrations of the prosperity of Britain.
Ash. Faith and troth! there be some tightish hands in theas parts, I promize ye.
Sir Abel. And, Farmer, it shall precede the hymeneal festivities—
Ash. Nan!
Sir Abel. Blockhead! The ploughing match shall take place as soon as Sir Philip Blandford and his daughter arrive.
Ash. Oh, likely, likely.
Enter Servant.
Serv. Sir Abel, I beg to say, my master will be here immediately.
Sir Abel. And, sir, I beg to ask who possesses the happiness of being your master?
Serv. Your son, sir, Mr. Robert Handy.
Sir Abel. Indeed! and where is Bob?
Serv. I left him, sir, in the belfrey of the church.
Sir Abel. Where?
Serv. In the belfrey of the church.
Sir Abel. In the belfrey of the church! What was he doing there?
Serv. Why, Sir, the natives were ringing a peal in honour of our arrival—when my master finding they knew nothing of the matter, went up to the steeple to instruct them, and ordered me to proceed to the Castle—Give me leave, Sir Abel, to take this out of your way. [Takes the camp chair.] Sir, I have the honour—
[Bows and Exit.
Sir Abel. Wonderful! My Bob, you must know, is an astonishing fellow!—you have heard of the admirable Crichton, may be? Bob's of the same kidney! I contrive, he executes—Sir Abel invenit, Bob fecit. He can do everything—everything!
Ash. All the better vor he. I zay, zur, as he can turn his head to everything, pray, in what way med he earn his livelihood?
Sir Abel. Earn his livelihood!
Ash. Ees, zur;—How do he gain his bread!
Sir Abel. Bread! Oh, he can't earn his bread, bless you! he's a genius.
Ash. Genius! Drabbit it, I have got a horze o' thic name, but dom' un, he'll never work—never.
Sir Abel. Egad; here comes my boy Bob!—Eh! no—it is not! no.
Enter POSTBOY, with a round hat and cane.
Why, who the devil are you?
Postb. I am the postboy, your honour, but the gem'man said I did not know how to drive, so he mounted my horse, and made me get inside—Here he is.
Enter Handy, jun. with a postboy's cap and whip.
Handy, jun. Ah, my old Dad, is that you?
Sir Abel. Certainly! the only doubt is, if that be you?
Handy, jun. Oh, I was teaching this fellow to drive—Nothing is so horrible as people pretending to do what they are unequal to—Give me my hat—That's the way to use a whip.
Postb. Sir, you know you have broke the horses' knees all to pieces.
Handy, jun. Hush, there's a guinea.
[Apart.
Sir Abel. [To Ashfield.] You see, Bob can do everything. But, sir, when you knew I had arrived from Germany, why did you not pay your duty to me in London?
Handy, jun. Sir, I heard you were but four days married, and I would not interrupt your honeymoon.
Sir Abel. Four days! oh, you might have come.
[Sighing.
Handy, jun. I hear you have taken to your arms a simple rustic, unsophisticated by fashionable follies—a full blown blossom of nature.
Sir Abel. Yes!
Handy, jun. How does it answer?
Sir Abel. So, so!
Handy, jun. Any thorns?
Sir Abel. A few.
Handy, jun. I must be introduced—where is she?
Sir Abel. Not within thirty miles; for I don't hear her.
Ash. Ha, ha, ha!
Handy, jun. Who is that?
Sir Abel. Oh, a pretty behaved tittering friend of mine.
Ash. Zarvent, zur—No offence, I do hope—Could not help tittering a bit at Nelly—when she were zarvent maid wi' I, she had a tightish prattle wi' her, that's vor zartain.
Handy, jun. Oh! so then my honoured mamma was the servant of this tittering gentleman—I say, father, perhaps she has not lost the tightish prattle he speaks of.
Sir Abel. My dear boy, come here—Prattle! I say did you ever live next door to a pewterer's?—that's all—you understand me—did you ever hear a dozen fire-engines full gallop?—were you ever at Billingsgate in the sprat season?—or——
Handy, jun. Ha, ha!
Sir Abel. Nay, don't laugh, Bob.
Handy, jun. Indeed, sir, you think of it too seriously. The storm, I dare say, soon blows over.
Sir Abel. Soon! you know what a trade wind is, don't you, Bob? why, she thinks no more of the latter end of her speech, than she does of the latter end of her life—
Handy, jun. Ha! ha!
Sir Abel. But I won't be laugh'd at—I'll knock any man down that laughs! Bob, if you can say any thing pleasant, I'll trouble you; if not, do what my wife can't—hold your tongue.
Handy, jun. I'll shew you what I can do—I'll amuse you with this native.
[Apart.
Sir Abel. Do—do—quiz him—at him, Bob.
Handy, jun. I say, Farmer, you are a set of jolly fellows here, an't you?
Ash. Ees, zur, deadly jolly—excepting when we be otherwise, and then we bean't.
Handy, jun. Play at cricket, don't you?
Ash. Ees, zur; we Hampshire lads conceat we can bowl a bit or thereabouts.
Handy, jun. And cudgel too, I suppose?
Sir Abel. At him, Bob.
Ash. Ees, zur, we sometimes break oon another's heads, by way of being agreeable, and the like o'that.
Handy, jun. Understand all the guards? [Putting himself in an attitude of cudgelling.]
Ash. Can't zay I do, zur.
Handy, jun. What! hit in this way, eh? [Makes a hit at Ashfield, which he parries, and hits young Handy violently.]
Ash. Noa, zur, we do hit thic way.
Handy, jun. Zounds and fury!
Sir Abel. Why, Bob, he has broke your head.
Handy, jun. Yes; he rather hit me—he somehow——
Sir Abel. He did indeed, Bob.
Handy, jun. Damn him—The fact is, I am out of practice.
Ash. You need not be, zur; I'll gi' ye a belly full any day, wi' all my heart and soul.
Handy, jun. No, no, thank you—Farmer, what's your name?
Ash. My name be Tummas Ashfield—any thing to say against my name?
[Threatening.
Handy, jun. No, no—Ashfield! shou'd he be the father of my pretty Susan—Pray have you a daughter?
Ash. Ees, I have—any thing to zay against she?
Handy, jun. No, no; I think her a charming creature.
Ash. Do ye, faith and troth—Come, that be deadly kind o'ye however—Do you zee, I were frightful she were not agreeable.
Handy, jun. Oh, she's extremely agreeable to me, I assure you.
Ash. I vow, it be quite pratty in you to take notice of Sue. I do hope, zur, breaking your head will break noa squares—She be a coming down to theas parts wi' lady our maid Nelly, as wur—your spouse, zur.
Handy, jun. The devil she is! that's awkward!
Ash. I do hope you'll be kind to Sue when she do come, woolye, zur?
Handy, jun. You may depend on it.
Sir Abel. I dare say you may. Come, Farmer, attend us.
Ash. Ees, zur; wi' all respect—Gentlemen, pray walk thic way, and I'll walk before you.
[Exit.
Sir Abel. Now, that's what he calls behaving pretty. Damn his pretty behaviour.
[Exeunt.