SCENE IV.
An extensive view of a cultivated country—A ploughed field in the centre, in which are seen six different ploughs and horses—At one side a handsome tent—A number of country people assembled.
Enter Ashfield and Dame.
Ash. Make way, make way for the gentry! and, do ye hear, behave pratty as I do—Dang thee, stond back, or I'll knack thee down, I wool.
Enter Sir Abel, and Miss Blandford, with Servants.
Sir Abel. It is very kind of you to honour our rustic festivities with your presence.
Miss B. Pray, Sir Abel, where is your son?
Sir Abel. What! Bob? Oh, you'll see him presently—[Nodding significantly.]—Here are the prize medals; and if you will condescend to present them, I'm sure they'll be worn with additional pleasure.—I say, you'll see Bob presently.—Well, Farmer, is it all over?
Ash. Ees, zur; the acres be plough'd and the ground judg'd; and the young lads be coming down to receive their reward—Heartily welcome, miss, to your native land; hope you be as pleased to zee we as we be to zee you, and the like o'that.—Mortal beautizome to be sure—I declare, miss, it do make I quite warm zomehow to look at ye. [A shout without.] They be coming—Now, Henry!
Sir Abel. Now you'll see Bob!—now my dear boy, Bob!—here he comes.
[Huzza.
Enter Henry and two young Husbandmen.
Ash. 'Tis he, he has don't—Dang you all, why dan't ye shout? Huzza!
Sir Abel. Why, zounds, where's Bob?—I don't see Bob—Bless me, what has become of Bob and my plough?
[Retires and takes out his glass.
Ash. Well, Henry, there be the prize, and there be the fine lady that will gi' it thee.
Henry. Tell me who is that lovely creature?
Ash. The dater of Sir Philip Blandford.
Henry. What exquisite sweetness! Ah! should the father but resemble her, I shall have but little to fear from his severity.
Ash. Miss, thic be the young man that ha got'n the goulden prize.
Miss B. This! I always thought ploughmen were coarse, vulgar creatures, but he seems handsome and diffident.
Ash. Ees, quite pratty behaved—it were I that teach'd un.
Miss B. What's your name?
Henry. Henry.
Miss B. And your family?
[Henry, in agony of grief, turns away, strikes his forehead, and leans on the shoulder of Ashfield.]
Dame. [Apart to Miss B.] Madam, I beg pardon, but nobody knows about his parentage; and when it is mentioned, poor boy! he takes on sadly—He has lived at our house ever since we had the farm, and we have had an allowance for him—small enough to be sure—but, good lad! he was always welcome to share what we had.
Miss B. I am shock'd at my imprudence—[To Henry.] Pray pardon me; I would not insult an enemy, much less one I am inclined to admire—[Giving her hand, then withdraws it.]—to esteem—you shall go to the Castle—my father shall protect you.
Henry. Generous creature! to merit his esteem is the fondest wish of my heart—to be your slave, the proudest aim of my ambition.
Miss B. Receive your merited reward. [He kneels—she places the medal round his neck—the same to the others.]
Sir Abel. [Advances.] I can't see Bob: pray, sir, do you happen to know what is become of my Bob?
Henry. Sir?
Sir Abel. Did not you see a remarkable clever plough, and a young man——
Henry. At the beginning of the contest I observed a gentleman; his horses, I believe, were unruly; but my attention was too much occupied to allow me to notice more.
[Laughing without.
Handy, jun. [Without.] How dare you laugh?
Sir Abel. That's Bob's voice!
[Laughing again.
Enter Handy, jun. in a smock frock, cocked hat, and a piece of a plough in his hand.
Handy, jun. Dare to laugh again, and I'll knock you down with this!—Ugh! how infernally hot!
[Walks about.
Sir Abel. Why, Bob, where have you been?
Handy, jun. I don't know where I've been.
Sir Abel. And what have you got in your hand?
Handy, jun. What! All I could keep of your nonsensical ricketty plough.
[Walks about, Sir Abel following.
Sir Abel. Come, none of that, sir.—Don't abuse my plough, to cover your ignorance, sir? where is it, sir? and where are my famous Leicestershire horses, sir?
Handy, jun. Where? ha, ha, ha! I'll tell you as nearly as I can, ha, ha! What's the name of the next county?
Ash. It be called Wiltshire, zur.
Handy, jun. Then, dad, upon the nicest calculation I am able to make, they are at this moment engaged in the very patriotic act of ploughing Salisbury plain, ha ha! I saw them fairly over that hill, full gallop, with the curricle plough at their heels.
Ash. Ha, ha! a good one, ha ha!
Handy, jun. But never mind, father, you must again set your invention to work, and I my toilet:—rather a deranged figure to appear before a lady in. [Fiddles.] Hey day! What! are you going to dance?
Ash. Ees, zur; I suppose you can sheake a leg a bit?
Handy, jun. I fancy I can dance every possible step, from the pas ruse to the war-dance of the Catawbaws.
Ash. Likely.—I do hope, miss, you'll join your honest neighbours; they'll be deadly hurt an' you won't gig it a bit wi' un.
Miss B. With all my heart.
Sir Abel. Bob's an excellent dancer.
Miss B. I dare say he is, sir? but on this occasion, I think I ought to dance with the young man, who gained the prize—I think it would be most pleasant—most proper, I mean; and I am glad you agree with me.—So, sir, if you'll accept my hand—
[Henry takes it.
Sir Abel. Very pleasantly settled, upon my soul!—Bob, won't you dance?
Handy, jun. I dance!—no, I'll look at them—I'll quietly look on.
Sir Abel. Egad now, as my wife's away, I'll try to find a pretty girl, and make one among them.
Ash. That's hearty!—Come, Dame, hang the rheumatics!—Now, lads and lasses, behave pratty, and strike up.
[A dance.
[Handy, jun. looks on a little, and then begins to move his legs—then dashes into the midst of the dance, and endeavours to imitate every one opposite to him; then being exhausted, he leaves the dance, seizes the fiddle, and plays 'till the curtain drops.]