SCENE II.
Farmer Ashfield's Kitchen.
Enter Lady Handy and Susan.
Susan. My dear home, thrice welcome!—What gratitude I feel to your ladyship for this indulgence!
Lady H. That's right, child!
Susan. And I am sure you partake my pleasure in again visiting a place, where you received every protection and kindness my parents could shew you, for, I remember, while you lived with my father—
Lady H. Child! don't put your memory to any fatigue on my account—you may transfer the remembrance of who I was, to aid your more perfect recollection of who I am.
Susan. Lady Handy!
Lady H. That's right, child!—I am not angry.
Susan. [Looking out.] Ah! I see my dear father and mother coming through the garden.
Lady H. Oh! now I shall be caressed to death; but I must endure the shock of their attentions.
Enter Farmer and Dame, with Sir Abel.
Ash. My dear Susan!
[They run to Susan.
Dame. My sweet child! give me a kiss.
Ash. Hald thee! Feyther first though—Well, I be as mortal glad to zee thee as never war—and how be'st thee? and how do thee like Lunnun town? it be a deadly lively place I be tuold.
Dame. Is not she a sweet girl?
Sir Abel. That she is.
Lady H. [With affected dignity.] Does it occur to any one present, that Lady Handy is in the room?
Sir Abel. Oh, Lud! I'm sure, my dear wife, I never forget, that you are in the room.
Ash. Drabbitit! I overlooked Lady Nelly, sure enow; but consider, there be zome difference between thee and our own Susan! I be deadly glad to zee thee, however.
Dame. So am I, Lady Handy.
Ash. Don't ye take it unkind I han't a buss'd thee yet—meant no slight indeed.
[Kisses her.
Lady H. Oh! shocking!
[Aside.
Ash. No harm I do hope, zur.
Sir Abel. None at all.
Ash. But dash it, Lady Nelly, what do make thee paint thy vace all over we rud ochre zoo? Be it vor thy spouse to knaw thee?—that be the way I do knaw my sheep.
Sir Abel. The flocks of fashion are all marked so, Farmer.
Ash. Likely! Drabbit it! thee do make a tightish kind of a ladyship zure enow.
Dame. That you do, my lady! you remember the old house?
Ash. Aye; and all about it, doant ye? Nelly! my lady!
Lady H. Oh! I'm quite shock'd—Susan, child! prepare a room where I may dress before I proceed to the castle.
[Exit Susan.
Enter Handy, jun.
Handy, jun. I don't see Susan—I say, Dad, is that my mamma?
Sir Abel. Yes—speak to her.
Handy, jun. [Chucking her under the chin] A fine girl, upon my soul!
Lady H. Fine girl, indeed! Is this behaviour!
Handy, jun. Oh! beg pardon, most honoured parent. [She curtsies.]—-that's a damned bad curtsey, I can teach you to make a much better curtsey than that!
Lady H. You teach me, that am old enough to—hem!
Handy, jun. Oh! that toss of the head was very bad indeed—Look at me!—That's the thing!
Lady H. Am I to be insulted? Sir Abel, you know I seldom condescend to talk.
Sir Abel. Don't say so, my lady, you wrong yourself.
Lady H. But, when I do begin, you know not where it will end.
Sir Abel. Indeed I do not.
[Aside.
Lady H. I insist on receiving all possible respect from your son.
Handy, jun. And you shall have it, my dear girl!—Madam, I mean.
Lady H. I vow, I am agitated to that degree—Sir Abel! my fan.
Sir Abel. Yes, my dear—Bob, look here, a little contrivance of my own. While others carry swords and such like dreadful weapons in their canes, I more gallantly carry a fan. [Removes the head of his cane, and draws out a fan.] A pretty thought, isn't it? [Presents it to his lady.]
Ash. Some difference between thic stick and mine, beant there, zur?
[To Handy, jun.
Handy, jun. [Moving away.] Yes, there is.—[To Lady H.] Do you call that fanning yourself? [Taking the fan.] My dear ma'am, this is the way to manœuvre a fan.
Lady H. Sir, you shall find [To Handy, jun.] I have power enough to make you repent this behaviour, severely repent it—Susan!
[Exit followed by Dame.
Handy, jun. Bravo! passion becomes her; she does that vastly well.
Sir Abel. Yes, practice makes perfect.
Enter Susan.
Susan. Did your ladyship call?—Heavens! Mr. Handy!
Handy, jun. Hush! my angel! be composed! that letter will explain. [Giving a letter, noticed by Ashfield.] Lady Handy wishes to see you.
Susan. Oh, Robert!
Handy, jun. At present, my love, no more.
[Exit Susan, followed by Ashfield.
Sir Abel. What were you saying, sir, to that young woman?
Handy, jun. Nothing particular, sir. Where is Lady Handy going?
Sir Abel. To dress.
Handy, jun. I suppose she has found out the use of money.
Sir Abel. Yes; I'll do her the justice to say she encourages trade.—Why, do you know, Bob, my best coal pit won't find her in white muslins—round her neck hangs an hundred acres at least; my noblest oaks have made wigs for her; my fat oxen have dwindled into Dutch pugs, and white mice; my India bonds are transmuted into shawls and otto of roses; and a magnificent mansion has shrunk into a diamond snuff-box.
Enter Countryman.
Coun. Gentlemen, the folks be all got together, and the ploughs be ready—and——
Sir Abel. We are coming.
[Exit Servant.
Handy, jun. Ploughs?
Sir Abel. Yes, Bob, we are going to have a grand agricultural meeting.
Handy, jun. Indeed!
Sir Abel. If I could but find a man able to manage my new-invented curricle plough, none of them would have a chance.
Handy, jun. My dear sir, if there be any thing on earth I can do, it is that.
Sir Abel. What!
Handy. I rather fancy I can plough better than any man in England.
Sir Abel. You don't say so! What a clever fellow he is! I say, Bob, if you would—
Handy, jun. No! I can't condescend.
Sir Abel. Condescend! why not?—much more creditable, let me tell you, than gallopping a maggot for a thousand, or eating a live cat, or any other fashionable achievement.
Handy, jun. So it is—Egad! I will—I'll carry off the prize of industry.
Sir Abel. But should you lose, Bob.
Handy, jun. I lose! that's vastly well!
Sir Abel. True, with my curricle plough you could hardly fail.
Handy, jun. With my superior skill, Dad—Then, I say, how the newspapers will teem with the account.
Sir Abel. Yes.
Handy, jun. That universal genius, Handy, junior, with a plough——
Sir Abel. Stop—invented by that ingenious machinist, Handy, senior.
Handy, jun. Gained the prize against the first husbandmen in Hampshire—Let our Bond-street butterflies emulate the example of Handy, junior.—
Sir Abel. And let old city grubs cultivate the field of science, like Handy, senior—Ecod! I am so happy!
Lady H. [Without.] Sir Abel!
Sir Abel. Ah! there comes a damper.
Handy, jun. Courage! you have many resources of happiness.
Sir Abel. Have I? I should be very glad to know them.
Handy, jun. In the first place you possess an excellent temper.
Sir Abel. So much the worse; for if I had a bad one, I should be the better able to conquer hers.
Handy, jun. You enjoy good health—
Sir Abel. So much the worse; for if I were ill, she wouldn't come near me.
Handy, jun. Then you are rich—
Sir Abel. So much the worse; for had I been poor, she would not have married me. But I, say, Bob, if you gain the prize, I'll have a patent for my plough.
Lady H. [Without.] Sir Abel! I say—
Handy, jun. Father, could not you get a patent for stopping that sort of noise?
Sir Abel. If I could, what a sale it would have!—No, Bob, a patent has been obtained for the only thing that will silence her—
Handy, jun. Aye—What's that?
Sir Abel. [In a whisper.] A coffin! hush!—I'm coming, my dear.
Handy, jun. Ha, ha, ha!
[Exeunt.